


Weight of Your Love

by sunshinexbomb



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Slow Burn, Some light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6138256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinexbomb/pseuds/sunshinexbomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall reaches behind him for his guitar, strumming out the chord progression he has scribbled down in the margins. He doesn’t quite remember the melody they’d been working on together, not when his mind is still a bit foggy with thoughts of Bressie’s large hands on his bare skin and the feel of his stubble against his jaw, but Niall can hear a new melody somewhere in his head, something soft and sweet and maybe a little sad, and he finds it’s easy to map out on paper.</p><p>He loses himself in the song in a way he hasn’t in a long time. </p><p>--</p><p>In which Niall moves back to Ireland two years into the One Direction hiatus and rediscovers music, home, and his relationship with Bressie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weight of Your Love

**Author's Note:**

> WOW. So, I cannot believe I wrote a fic that is over 45k words like ???? How did this happen, honestly. I'm incredibly proud of this and truly hope that everyone enjoys reading it as much as I did writing it.
> 
> Of course, a fic like this doesn't come easily and there's a lot of people I need to thank. First, thank you to Aimee, Ellen, Sasha, and Katy in the Big Bang Support group for being so, well, supportive. This fic would be nowhere without your encouragement and friendship and I'm so happy that we've grown as close as we have over the past six months. 
> 
> Thank you to [Shannon](http://broken-drums.tumblr.com) for the Irish-pick and light beta. Thank you to [Izzy](http://soofyahn.tumblr.com), [Nicole](http://outofcases.tumblr.com), and [TC](http://multishippinfool.tumblr.com) for the thorough and helpful betas, wonderful comments, and always being around whenever I needed someone to talk to. This fic really wouldn't be anywhere without you. Any other mistakes in this fic are totally my own.
> 
> And, of course, thank you to [Mag](http://notverypunkofme.tumblr.com) for the wonderful art that you can find embedded in this fic and also on tumblr. It's been lots of fun working with you and I was very lucky to be paired with someone as talented as you.
> 
> I do not own any past or present members of One Direction or any other real life persons mentioned in this fic and this is clearly fictional. Title comes from Bressie's "Breaking My Fall".

  
Niall’s not sure how, but somewhere along the line, Saturday night comes to mean chilling on the couch with Willie and a few bottles of cold beer, The X-Factor playing on Niall’s big screen in the living room. It’s not the most exciting way Niall’s ever spent his weekend, but it’s nice, he supposes. There’s something to be said about finding a steady rhythm, especially when so much of the past few years has felt like such a whirlwind.  
   
“I like her,” Willie says, taking a sip of his beer.  
   
Niall nods in agreement. There’s a young girl on stage with dark skin and bright eyes and the most killer voice Niall’s heard in ages. She’s singing an old Taylor Swift song but all soft and slowed-down and Niall can tell she already has the judges eating out of her palm.  
   
“Absolutely amazing,” Niall says.  
   
She gets a standing ovation from the entire panel, the first one of the entire season. Nick’s looking misty-eyed, and Niall can’t help but smile when the camera pans to Louis who’s wiping his arm across his face. Niall still hasn’t gotten used to seeing him on that side of the stage, looking impossibly small in Simon’s old seat. He’s been smashing it, though, confident and proud and loud in his opinions like always and drawing in attention with his banter with Nick.  
   
“You are absolutely stunning, darling,” Louis says, voice coming out so clearly from the speakers that Niall can imagine him in the room with them, curled up on the armchair with a drink in his hand.  
   
Niall’s hand tightens around his own drink, his chest constricting strangely when the camera zooms in on Louis’s face, the familiar crinkles around his eyes and his toothy grin. He tries to ignore it, instead focusing his attention on the girl who’s thanking Louis profusely, hiding her smile behind her hands.  
   
“Do you ever miss it? Performing, I mean,” Willie asks. He glances over at Niall briefly with a small smile on his face.  
   
Niall tries to smile back, but it comes out strained and more tight around the edges than he wants it to. “Sometimes, I suppose.”  
   
Willie raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t push, turning back to the screen where the next contestant’s taken the stage. It’s a couple of guys this time, harmonizing smoothly on a familiar track. One of Harry’s new tracks.  
   
Niall takes a drink from his bottle, beer smooth and cold against his throat but settling uncomfortably in his stomach. Harry’s been on the radio a lot lately, Zayn too. This is different, though, hearing Harry’s words like this, raw and stripped down and much more intimate than usual. Something about it makes Niall’s skin itch, like it’s stretching too tight across his bones.  
   
Nick’s smile is soft on the screen. Rita and Cheryl both look impressed. Louis’ face is trained to coolness, smile blank in a way that Niall’s more than familiar with but could probably fool the thousands of people watching him right now. Niall understands what it’s like, not knowing what to do, how to feel when there’s cameras trained on him and itching for a reaction.  
   
Niall jumps suddenly to his feet, nearly tipping out his beer by accident. His knee gives a twinge of protest but he ignores it, murmuring, “Gotta wee,” to Willie who glances at him curiously. He can’t be here. Can’t hear what Louis’s got to say. It all feels like a bit too much to handle. The steady rhythm of his night’s shattered.  
   
Niall’s fingers fumble with the lock in the bathroom, and when he finally gets it closed he shuts his eyes, and takes a few deep breaths, trying to steady his shaking hands.  
   
\--  
   
There’s a flat in Dublin leased under Niall’s name. It’s fully furnished, decorated through a professional his P.A., Charlotte, had hired when he was eighteen and still unsure about what to do with so much space. It’s empty otherwise, collecting dust in between the months the cleaners come and tidy up in case Niall ever decides to spend a few days closer to home.  
   
These days Niall spends more and more time thinking about that flat and it’s empty space. He thinks about the potential for something new, something different from London rain and the familiar walls of his home and the steady rhythm that him and Willie have perfected over the last few years.  
   
It’s been more than two years since Niall’s been on the road, almost three since he’s been in a studio. Sometimes he picks up his guitar, strums through familiar chords and comes away frustrated because he can’t think of anything new, anything original. There’s a leather bound journal that sits closed and locked away in one of his desk drawers because he can never seem to write more than a few disconnected lines of nonsense.  
   
Niall feels restless in a way he hasn’t in ages. He loves his life, loves panel shows and guest appearances and spending nights in London and holidaying in Australia or LA or wherever he pleases. But sometimes it’s not enough, and he knows it.  
   
Niall hadn’t been completely truthful with Willie. He does miss it. He misses the thrill of performing, the pride that comes with nailing down the perfect hook and chorus, of pushing his voice to reach that note he’s been having trouble with for ages.  
   
London is uninspiring, though, and Niall knows he needs something else and soon. Maybe what he needs is time at home. Not the home he’s built, but the home he was once familiar with and that he knows is always waiting for him to come back to when he’s ready.  
   
\--  
   
Willie’s already awake by the time Niall gets up the next morning, sitting at the table and scrolling through his phone while he finishes his tea.  
   
“Morning,” he greets without looking up, and Niall makes a low sound in his throat in response.  
   
The night had been horrible, Niall tossing and turning in his sleep, waking up multiple times only to fall back into a fitful sleep. He feels more drained than when he went to bed last night, and he can tell there’s a headache building up in his temple, pressing against his skull insistently.  
   
Niall flicks on the kettle, debating over eggs or toast or both as Willie comes into the kitchen. They navigate around each other easily in the way two people only can after living together for years. It’s almost like a dance, a choreographed scene that they’ve practiced over and over.  
   
Niall thinks about the flat in Ireland, the emptiness of it. He wonders if Willie would come with him there or if he would need to come up with a different routine with nobody to dance around. The thought of being completely on his own is a bit terrifying but also a bit exhilarating in its uncertainty. There’s never been a time when he’s been completely alone. Mullingar had Greg and his da, and tour had the boys and the crew, and London has always had Willie. It’s never been just Niall.  
   
“Has something been up?” Willie asks as Niall settles in with his breakfast. He’d decided on just eggs in the end, scrambled with a thick layer of gooey cheese, something rich and indulgent because that’s just the mood he’s been in lately.  
   
Niall moves his eggs around his plate, mulling the question over in his mind. He hasn’t made a decision yet, not about Dublin or his career or anything. He feels like he’s been stuck for a while, in a liminal space where he’s neither here nor there, just coasting through his days while he waits for a decision to fall into his lap.  
   
It seems as if the decision isn’t coming on its own any time soon.  
   
“I’ve been thinking,” Niall says finally.  
   
Willie waits, hip rested against the table directly in front of Niall. Niall brings his hands up to his mouth, chews at his nails for just a second before stopping himself.  
   
“About what, then?” Willie asks when Niall hasn’t said anything.  
   
“You know that flat up in Dublin?” Niall asks, waiting until Willie nods. “Thinking, maybe I should finally start spending some time up there.”  
   
“So you wanna visit Dublin for a while?” Willie asks slowly.  
   
Niall shrugs. He’s barely eaten any of his eggs. There’s a strange twisting in Niall’s stomach, and it’s almost making him feel sick. Indulging himself doesn’t seem like the best idea anymore.  
   
“Not really visit,” Niall says, “more like stay up there for a while? I think I need to try something different.”  
   
To Niall’s surprise, Willie nods, scratching against the slight stubble on his chin. “Yeah? I think that’s a good idea, actually.”  
   
It’s not really the reaction Niall was expecting. Actually, Niall’s not sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t the easy agreement and thoughtful expression on Willie’s face at the moment. It eases the bubbling in his stomach a bit knowing his idea isn’t totally out of left field.  
   
“Do you really?”  
   
“Mate, it’s obvious you’re not happy here. Dunno if you have been for a while,” Willie says simply.  
   
"I don't think I'm unhappy," Niall says frowning. "Or, like, I dunno." He lets out a sigh of frustration.  
   
Willie shrugs. "You know better than I do what you're feeling, Niall. But I do think it'll do you good to get out of the city for a while."  
   
Niall nods. He doesn't understand the angry twisting in his stomach, the need to argue and insist that he's okay when they both know he's not. Sometimes he still feels like he has no idea what he wants, if he's ever known what he wants.  
   
"Do what you need to, yeah? I know you'll make the right choice."  
   
Niall knows Willie is trying to be reassuring, but he's not sure it's working. Ever since he was sixteen, all Niall's done is make choices. For once, he wants someone else to do it for him. He wants to be told what to do, what will be best for him. Niall's just so tired of being stuck, of being caught between two parts of his life. He doesn't know how much longer he can keep looking back when all he wants is to move forward.  
   
\--  
   
Niall calls Charlotte and they set everything up together. He's to be ready to leave in two weeks. It seems too soon and, at the same time, not soon enough.  
   
Willie decides he wants to stay in London, and Niall's not surprised. He has a job, a girlfriend, a life. He jokes that he's used to waiting for Niall to come home, that it won't be much different from when Niall spends countless days on the road.  
   
It is different, of course, and Niall supposes there's no reason to pretend it's not. There's no telling when Niall will be back - if he'll be back. He feels the permanence of his decision in the boxes he packs, small walls of cardboard hiding away the things he can't leave behind. Niall never took these things on tour because he knew he'd be seeing them again, and taking them with him reminds him that this is not a trip, not a holiday. This is him trying to rebuild a home.  
   
\--  
   
A week before Niall's set to leave, Liam texts, asking him out for a drink. Louis's back in town, getting ready to start filming the live shows for The X-Factor, and Liam wants to see them both for as proper of a lad's night as they can have when Harry's off in Japan or Jamaica or Jersey or wherever his tour has taken him this week.  
   
They decide to meet at a new club Liam's been frequenting and Niall feels anxious in a way he shouldn't when he's meeting up with two people who were once closer to him than family. But maybe that's just it. Maybe it's the sudden loss of intimacy and connection - the reminder that while they haven't exactly grown apart, it's been awhile since they've grown together - that's got him on edge. Niall doesn't like knowing he's seen Louis's face more often on TV than in person lately. He doesn't like how the texts between him and Liam have been dwindling down day by day until they've just become occasional _how are you doing_ 's and half-hearted attempts to make plans.  
   
Niall doesn't like that in the past week he hasn't thought once to text the mostly inactive Whatsapp group they’d finally set up after the hiatus started and let anybody know he's leaving the country for long enough that he's not even sure when he's coming back.  
   
The club is loud, but the sound is muffled in the VIP lounge where Liam’s gotten them a table. Liam’s bought the first round of drinks and Niall’s thankful, already starting to pick nervously at the paper around the bottle in front of him.  
   
He doesn’t remember the last time they’d been together like this, but it’s been months at least. Liam and Louis chat easily, both of them fawning over new pictures of Freddie and gossiping about people in the industry that they’ve both been working with. It seems easier for them to fall back into their usual banter, Liam already pink in the face from his drinks and his laughter, and Louis’s eyes crinkled with his smile the whole night. It’s been a long time since Niall’s felt like the third wheel, and he wonders vaguely if he should’ve just stayed at home so he could finish packing and maybe convince Charlotte to speed things up so he can move back into the Dublin flat faster.  
   
Quiet falls over the table suddenly, Louis and Liam’s laughter petering out as they sink into their drinks. Louis catches Niall’s eye from across from him and Niall’s stomach gives a jolt. He feels guilty all of a sudden, like he’s the one not making enough effort tonight. Sometimes he needs to remind himself that Liam and Louis have never tried to shut him out, at least not on purpose.  
   
“Think this is the first time I’ve ever seen a full drink in front of you, Nialler,” Louis jokes, nudging Niall’s foot gently under the table.  
   
Niall gives a weak smile, shrugging his shoulders and pointedly taking a drink.  
   
“You’ve been quiet all night, Niall,” Liam adds. “Everything been alright with you?”  
   
Liam throws an arm around his shoulders from next to him, and Niall sinks into him out of habit. Liam still smells the same, still feels the same against Niall. He’s solid and firm. Familiar. It’s grounding in a way that almost settles the jittery feeling that’s been trying to consume Niall the whole night.  
   
“Sorry, just got a lot on my mind lately,” Niall apologizes. He takes a longer drink this time, wishing that he had something a bit stronger, something that burned on the way down but left him feeling relaxed more quickly.  
   
Liam’s eyebrows furrow in concern and Louis’s mouth turns down slightly at the corners.  
   
“Like what?” Louis asks softly.  
   
Niall’s bottle is covered in condensation, and the paper peels off easily. He can feel it sticky on his fingertips, bits of it stuck underneath his short nails. It’s easier to concentrate on than the concern on Louis’s face, the worry painted on Liam’s.  
   
“Niall,” Liam prompts gently. He moves his arm lower down until it’s resting around Niall’s waist instead, poking his side until Niall lets out a genuine giggle.  
   
Niall scoots a bit closer to Liam in response, leaning his head against Liam’s shoulder. If he closes his eyes he can pretend it’s a different time, a different place. A moving bus, a cold hotel room, a familiar dressing room in an unfamiliar city. It makes it easier to deal with than thinking about where he is now, what has changed, how nothing is really the same anymore.  
   
“I’m moving up to Dublin,” Niall says after a deep breath, words muffled a bit against Liam’s shoulder.  
   
“Dublin?” Louis says, voice sharper and colored in more surprise than Willie’s. “London life not cutting it for you anymore?”  
   
“Been a bit stuck, I suppose. Feel like I haven’t been doing - enough.”  
   
Niall doesn’t look up. He’s not sure if he’s ready for Liam’s big, sympathetic eyes or the frown lines etched on Louis’s face. Instead he takes a second to just breathe, counting to ten slowly in his head and then doing it again when his heart beat hasn’t gone totally back to normal yet.  
   
It’s the first time he’s really admitted what’s wrong. Willie just knew, and Niall appreciates that, but this is bigger. There’s something almost alleviating about being able to say aloud what’s been bringing him down. Niall feels like he’s taking a step forward, like he’s definitely made the right decision in all this.  
   
“What do you mean you haven’t been doing enough?” Louis asks, just harsh enough that Niall feels his stomach bottom out. “You’ve been doing plenty. All them panel shows and writing and what not.”  
   
Liam’s stiffer beside him than before, not as warm or inviting, and Niall scoots away from him a bit. His arm’s still there, though, around Niall’s waist, and Niall lets it be. It’s presence is almost like an anchor, despite Liam’s silence. He still keeps his eyes down, focusing on the table, his worn down cuticles, the beads of condensation rolling down his bottle. Anywhere but Louis.  
   
“I’ve barely written anything,” Niall says, nervous laughter spilling from his mouth before he can stop it. It gets caught in his throat and the tightness in his chest. Maybe he hasn’t made the right choice then, if he can’t even convince two of the people who are supposed to know him better than himself that he has. “Can’t get a single fucking word out on paper. Everything else is just to pass time and it’s - it’s not _enough_.”  
   
Liam’s voice is small when finally asks, “What are you hoping to find in Dublin?”  
   
“I don’t know,” Niall admits. He doesn’t know when he started picking at his beer bottle again, but he’s surprised when his nails scratch against glass instead of paper like he was expecting. He’s nearly stripped it bare. “Something more than what I have here.”  
   
“I don’t understand -”  
   
“Fuck’s sake, Louis,” Niall snaps, surprising himself just as much he surprises Liam and Louis both. When he finally looks up, it’s to send a steely glare in Louis’s direction, feeling a sick satisfaction in his stomach that Louis’s now the one with downcast eyes. “You don’t need to understand. I’m not happy here right now. Why isn’t that enough?”  
   
“Can’t we do something to help?” Liam asks, looking between Niall and Louis like a solution to all of Niall’s problems will just appear out of thin air between the two of them.  
   
Niall laughs bitterly. “No, I don’t think so. Fuck, Liam, like, between the two of you you’ve worked with everybody and their mother the last few years. Harry’s travelled to fuck knows where on tour and sold more copies of his album than we could imagine. Zayn’s -”  
   
He stops himself, swallowing around the large lump in his throat. “And I’m not doing anything. Not really, at least. I just. I need this.”  
   
Niall bows his head, fingers going to his mouth without him really thinking about it. Liam’s arm is still there around his waist and he can feel Louis’s foot brush up against his occasionally under the table. It sends a jolt through him every time, but he doesn’t move it away, not yet.  
   
Louis finally breaks the tense silence, asking quietly, “Do you really need to leave us?"  
   
Niall's chest tightens and for the first time he feels guilt wash over him. Not because of his choice, but for not thinking about what this sounds like, not considering what might be going through Louis's head and driving the sharpness of his words. He wonders when it was that he stopped being able to read these boys like an open book.  
   
"Not really leaving you, am I?" Niall says with a small smile. "Just leaving London. I'll never leave you. Couldn't if I tried."  
   
"We know that, Niall," Liam assures him, sending a pointed look towards Louis. "We'll just miss not having you around. You're our rock, yeah? Dunno what we're gonna do without you."  
   
Niall feels a familiar prickle behind his eyes, and he closes them, trying to drive away the tears. Liam brings his hand up to the nape of Niall's neck, and Niall leans into the familiar, gentle touch. The way Liam rubs circles into his skin with his fingertips is gentle, soothing.  
   
Niall watches as Louis and Liam have a silent conversation across the table after that, saying more in the tilt of their mouths and the furrows of their brow than Niall could probably ever say with his words. He’s always been jealous of this connection that Louis and Liam have, the subtle understanding between the two of them that only forms between two people who have shared as much as they have.  
   
“Hope we’re invited to your house-warming party, Nialler," Louis says finally, a weak attempt at a joke that only passes because the smile on his face is genuine enough.  
   
Niall laughs softly, a breathy thing that escapes suddenly from his lungs. “Yeah, mate, of course. But only if you bring presents.”  
   
Louis purposefully hooks his foot with Niall's under the table, and everything starts to seem a little easier. The tightening in Niall’s chest and stomach loosens slowly the rest of the night. They don't bring up Dublin again, and Niall wonders how okay Louis really is with it all. He's all sharp smiles and loud laughter again, but the way he looks at Niall is a bit sadder, making the guilt crawl across Niall's skin again. Niall tries to bury it away, though. This is something he wants, something he needs for himself. He doesn't want to feel guilty for finally doing what he has to.  
   
Eventually, he finishes his beer finally, even has a second and a third until he’s warmer, more relaxed like he wanted to feel the whole night. It’s easier to laugh, then, to tease Liam and ask after Louis’s work and how his kid is doing. It's easier to ignore Louis's glances.  
   
Niall tells himself again that he's made the right choice, even if no one else fully understands why he's made it.  
   
\--  
   
Everything is a blur of muted colors, the street lamps dim in the hazy morning light. Niall’s flight out of London is early in the morning, just after the sun rises when the city is still and quiet. Even though he’s rarely awake for it, it’s one of Niall’s favorite times of the day, and he stares out the window of his Range Rover as they speed down the blessedly empty motorway.  
   
Most of Niall's things are already in Dublin, waiting for him in the flat. All he has now is the duffle bag in the back seat, the backpack at his feet, and what he's managed to fit into his pockets. It feels exciting, travelling again with a real purpose, knowing that when he touches down it will be to more than just doing the same thing in a different setting.  
   
"You good?" Willie asks from the driver's seat.  
   
Niall nods. He squeezes at his thigh, but he thinks the smile on his face is genuine enough. He's good.  
   
The screen of his phone lights up and his chest tightens a bit. It's a Snapchat from Harry, and he opens it with slightly shaky fingers.  
   
The picture is nothing special, a sunset or a sunrise or something in an unfamiliar city. There's no filter, no timestamp. It could literally be anywhere, and Niall nearly rolls his eyes because it's just so _Harry_ to try and keep an air of anonymity when Niall could Google his most recent tour date in a second.  
   
There's a plane taking off outside Niall's window, and it's close enough to the ground that it looks overwhelming and massive. Niall snaps a picture of it and sends it to Harry with no caption. Before he can talk himself out of it, he opens the message thread he has with Harry, frowning at how far down he has to scroll in his texts to find it.  
   
_headin to dublin for a bit_  
   
Niall clicks off the screen, ignoring the questioning look Willie gives him when he sighs deeply. He's not expecting a reply, and he's surprised when his phone buzzes in his hand almost straight away.  
   
**Yeah? How long? x**  
   
_dunno._  
   
**Cool. I'll be there in a few weeks. We can get drinks.  It'll be nice to see you. Miss all of you lots.  x**  
   
Niall sends back a _miss you too_ and a few miscellaneous emoji, trying to ignore the sudden rolling in his stomach. He tries not to wonder how empty Harry’s promise is and reminds himself that it’s not just Harry. Niall knows it’s not difficult keeping in contact with people even if they’re thousands of miles away, that Harry’s not the the only one who’s not trying hard enough these days.  
   
Niall’s good. He wants to be good. He needs to be good. In a few hours he’ll be in Dublin, ready to start something new. There’s no time for the jitters he’s been trying to bury down. Niall still doesn’t know how long this trip will be, if it’s a temporary thing or if it will stretch into something permanent, but he doesn’t intend to waste a single second of his time.  
   
\--  
   
The flight is short and smooth. It’s still early in the morning when he lands, and Niall’s glad the airport is relatively calm and quiet. The days of screaming girls and flashing lights are long gone, and the anonymity is gratifying as much as it is terrifying at times.  
   
The first thing Niall does when he steps out of the airport is take a deep breath, chest expanding and a soft smile unfurling across his face as he lets the air fill his lungs. Maybe it’s not Mullingar with it’s soft rolling hills and familiar landscapes, but it’s still Ireland, and it’s already the most he’s felt at home in a long while.  
   
There’s a car waiting for him, and it takes Niall through vaguely familiar sites and streets. He’s never spent that much time in Dublin, only ever coming into the city for a couple days, maybe a week at a time. There’s an energy thrumming through him, the ache of walking the streets, of exploring, of discovering new things, new places. The nerves are still there, deep in his bones, but they’re muted now, and Niall’s distracted by his excitement.  
   
When they’re not too far from the flat, Niall’s phone starts buzzing in his hand, screen illuminating with a call. His heart leaps in surprise at the name flashing up at him, and he tries to keep his voice steady when he answers with a, “Hey, Head, it’s a been a while, hasn’t it?”  
   
Bressie’s voice comes out warm and clear from the receiver, nearly comforting because it’s familiar in a way the sights out his window are not. “That it has, Chief. Heard from Bobby you’re moving up to Dublin. Is it true?”  
   
Niall nods, even though Bressie can’t see him, picking nervously at the loose threads around the hole in his jeans. His scar is staring at him through it, more faded than it once was, but still undeniably there, a constant reminder of what he’s gone through and how far he’s gotten. “Yeah, it is. Just landed not too long ago actually.”  
   
“I’m in the ‘Gar a few days, visiting me mam, but should be back by the end of the week. We can catch up, yeah? I’ll even tune up your guitar if you want.”  
   
Niall laughs in surprise. “You don’t need to make excuses to come see me, Brez, you know that. Just let me know when, alright?”  
   
“Of course. I’ll be calling again in a few days. Miss you, Chief.”  
   
“Miss you too,” Niall says softly and honestly, a heavy weight settling in the pit of his stomach.  
   
Bressie hangs up with a quick goodbye and Niall sighs, head tipping back until it hits the back of his seat with a solid thump.  
   
\--  
   
Niall spends his first week in Dublin unpacking. The flat’s fully furnished, but he comes in to find all his boxes stacked up in the living room and waiting for him patiently. He works through them all slowly, satisfaction spreading through him every time he finds just the right shelf or cabinet to store things, the right table or wall to place his pictures. The place is an absolute tip for a while, the boxes in every room and corridor making him feel like he's packing up to leave again instead of finally setting down.  
   
Niall's relieved when he finishes up the last of the boxes, and he settles down on his new couch with a smoothie and a rugby match playing softly on the flat screen. The place is already starting to feel familiar with all his old pictures and awards lining the shelves and the walls. The flat still seems larger than his old one, though. There are spaces that he feels like Willie would have fit into, and it's a bit strange thinking that now he has to fill those places himself.  
   
For now Niall is okay. There's a calmness in his bones as he settles in for the night, and everything just feels right. The flat is big, but at the moment, it's not too big. The space is good after feeling trapped in London for so long. For the first time in a long while, Niall feels free.  
   
\--  
   
The flat’s not perfect, not by a long shot. Niall knows it'd be easy to call someone in to fix up the broken odds and ends around the place, but he likes doing things himself. Working with his hands gives him purpose, and he likes the feeling of plaster under his fingernails and the dull ache of heavy lifting in his back and shoulders.  
   
He's on his back under the leaky sink in the guest bathroom, a video playing on his laptop instructing him through tightening up busted pipes when his phone rings. He lets out a heavy sigh, reaching out blindly until his fingers find the spacebar to pause the video and dropping the wrench in his hand to the floor with a loud clatter of metal against tile. Niall smiles when he sees the name on his screen, answering the call just as it's about to cut off.  
   
“Eoghan! How are you doing, mate?”  
   
“Quite well, actually. How are you? How's Dublin life treating you?”  
   
“It's been alright,” Niall says, sitting up carefully so he doesn't bump his head against the porcelain of the sink. “Been fixing up the flat mostly. Getting settled in.”  
   
“Fixing up the flat, are ya? Should I have my plumber on speed-dial? We can’t forget what happened last time you played handyman,” Eoghan says light and teasing.  
   
The smile on Niall’s face grows as he leans against the wall, stretching out his cramped legs. It’s been too long since he’s spoken to Eoghan like this, and it’s so easy to fit back into their steady banter, like it’s only been days instead of months. “You flood one bathroom -”  
   
Eoghan’s laughter cuts him off, loud and bright and spreading a curl of something soft and warm in Niall’s chest. “Listen, come out for drinks with me tonight? It’s been too long since I’ve seen that pretty popstar face of yours.”  
   
“Hasn’t been long enough since I’ve seen your ugly mug,” Niall says lightly, laughing when Eoghan lets out an indignant, “Oi!”  
   
“Seriously, though. Drinks. Tonight. You and me, alright?”  
   
“Yeah,” Niall agrees, a large smile curling across his face. “Sounds ace. Text me where and when.”  
   
“Will do. Love you,” Eoghan says, ending the call with an over-exaggerated kissing noise.  
   
Niall puts his phone face down on the tiled floor, taking a moment to let the easy happiness he’s feeling spread through him before pressing play on his MacBook and returning to his work.  
   
\--  
   
Eoghan sends him the address of a small pub a few streets away from Niall’s flat, one that Niall’s passed a few times when he’s taken the time to walk around the neighborhood and has always wanted to check out himself. It’s nothing special, but it reminds of him of the places him and Willie would always go to in London, and the smell of beer and chips and the soft murmuring of groups of people are comforting in a way that few other things are. Niall’s always loved that stepping into a pub anywhere in the world was like breaking some kind of barrier. No matter where he was, they were always familiar, and they always made him feel like he was just a few steps away from home even if he was on the other side of the world.  
   
Niall doesn’t have too much time to look around before he hears Eoghan’s calling to him from a booth by the bar, voice cutting clearly through the quiet hum of the pub. “Horan, over here!”  
   
Niall grins, reaching the table just in time to fall into Eoghan’s embrace. Eoghan holds him tight, and Niall squeezes back, sinking into the feel of him, the scent of the cologne he’s always worn on nights out. Niall tucks his face into Eoghan’s neck for just a second, not even trying to fight the ridiculously large smile on his face when he pulls back.  
   
“There’s that popstar smile I’ve missed,” Eoghan says, just soft enough that it doesn’t sound much like a joke.  
   
“God, it’s really been too long, hasn’t it?” Niall asks, taking a seat across from Eoghan in the booth. He’s already ordered drinks, two pints of Guinness, still cold in Niall’s hand as he picks his up for a sip.  
   
“It has,” Eoghan says with a nod. “But we’re here now. So tell me, how is this break treating you?”  
   
Niall shrugs, smile slipping just slightly and going a bit tight around the edges. He’d been hoping not to get to this topic until later in the night, but he supposes that was a bit of wishful thinking. “A lot of sleeping. A lot of golf. A lot of jetting between L.A. and Australia and anywhere else I feel, really.”  
   
“Sounds like a dream,” Eoghan says, eyebrows raised. “You don’t seem happy about it, though.”  
   
It’s not a question, and Eoghan’s looking at him curiously, face serious. Niall just shrugs again, rubbing his hands against the fabric of his skinnies. “Just not how I pictured things going. Maybe at first but, like, it’s been what? Two years now? And all I’ve really done is fucked around while everyone else went on with their lives.”  
   
“What now then?” Eoghan asks. “You going to write an album? Tour the world again?”  
   
“I don’t know,” Niall admits, eyes downcast. There’s a loose thread from the hole in his jeans and he picks at it nervously. “Haven’t actually thought about it too much. I just knew I had to get out of London for a bit. Maybe for longer than a bit.”  
   
Niall’s been in Dublin for more than a week now, and it hadn’t taken him long to realize he’d arrived with little idea of what he was doing. Niall doesn’t do spur of the moment usually. He’s more methodical, likes plans and itineraries and spreadsheets. He’s the one that always kept track of where they were, of dates and faces and places. But now he’s somehow found himself in a largely unfamiliar city, fixing pipes and making his way through the newest Jamie Oliver cookbook with no clue of what his next step is.  
   
Niall’s not sure what he was expecting, maybe some grand revelation or burst of inspiration. His Moleskin is tucked into a drawer in his room, though, his favorite guitar sitting on its stand in the living room. He hasn’t touched either since unpacking them and putting them in their rightful place. It’s been easy throwing himself into small tasks, working with his hands and keeping himself distracted enough to feel like he was accomplishing something, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep on in this direction.  
   
“Hey,” Eoghan says. He kicks Niall gently under the table. “You’ll figure this out. You have nothing but time and you’re not going to accomplish anything overnight. I know there’s no point in telling you not to worry, but just try and take things a day at a time, yeah? There are no dead ends on the path of life.”  
   
Niall can’t help but snort out a laugh. “That’s deep, McDermott. You read it in a fortune cookie?”  
   
Eoghan kicks him a bit harder, laughing all the same. “Shut up, I’m trying to be helpful.”  
   
There’s a bit of tightness in Niall’s chest that he hadn’t realized was there until it loosens. It doesn’t disappear completely, but it’s not too constricting, just loose enough that Niall can lean back in his seat with ease and smile genuinely at Eoghan across the table.  
   
Eoghan changes the topic, talks about rugby and his radio show and all the places Niall has to see now that he’s back Ireland. They don’t talk about Niall much, and Niall’s grateful for it. Being with Eoghan like this is easy, maybe even easier than the last time Niall had seen Louis and Liam or talked to Harry. There are no expectations to be met, just quick back and forth banter and shared daydreams of a road trip down the coast.  
   
Niall’s started on his third drink, feeling light and buzzed, when Eoghan’s phone vibrates loudly against the table, screen flashing with a text. He lets out a scoff as he reads the message, typing something out quickly before locking the screen again.  
   
“Who was that?” Niall asks curiously. Eoghan doesn’t usually check his phone when they’re out unless it’s something important.  
   
“Bressie,” Eoghan says with a laugh. “Eejit still doesn’t know how to properly read a satnav.”  
   
“Is he coming here? I didn’t know he was back in the city,” Niall says, hand tensing around his pint glass.  
   
“Yeah, just got back a couple days ago. Thought it’d be nice if he joined us.”  
   
“Oh, uh, okay,” Niall says, buzz disappearing quickly. His stomach twists uncomfortably, and he tries to tamper it down with a long sip of his drink that nearly burns on the way down.  
   
Eoghan looks at him confusion for a second before his eyes soften. “Oh, Niall, you two aren’t still like -? You’re okay, right?”  
   
Niall scratches his blunt nails against the wood of the table nervously to keep from biting at them and the skin around the beds. He gives a little half-shrug, saying, “Yeah, we’re good. I, um, I talked to him the other day. When I landed. It’s just been a long time since we saw each other.”  
   
“I can tell him not to come if you want.”  
   
Niall shakes his head, surprising himself at how quickly he reacts. “No. No, I want to see him. I’ll have to do it eventually. Just wasn’t expecting it to be tonight.”  
   
Eoghan nods slowly, looking uncertain. “If you’re sure.”  
   
Niall has trouble keeping up with Eoghan’s light conversation after that, concentrating mostly on keeping his breathing steady and slowing down the pounding of his heart. He’s surprised when he finds his glass empty, and he offers to order the next round, eager for the chance to get out of his seat and try to shake off some of his sudden, excess energy.  
   
He orders two pints and a whiskey from the bartender, tapping nervously on the bar as he waits. He tries to count backwards from ten in his head, goes over old Derby scores, runs through chord progressions to familiar songs. Anything to quell the buzzing under his skin.  
   
There’s another body at the table when Niall gets back, and his heart leaps up to his throat, settling there thick and heavy.  
   
Niall allows himself a second to take Bressie in, the familiar curve of his jaw and the twist of his smile. There are laugh lines around his eyes that Niall’s never seen before and he seems softer somehow even though he knows Bressie would never hold back on his daily routines.  
   
“Brez,” Niall says softly, setting the drinks down on the table with a clink of glass against wood.  
   
Bressie doesn’t startle, but he does look at Niall with large eyes, smile widening as he lets out a breathy laugh. “Hey, Chief. Been quite some time, hasn’t it?”  
   
Niall hasn’t grown much and Bressie still seems to tower over him when he stands up. He brings Niall into a hug and Niall feels impossibly small as he returns the embrace. Sinking into Bressie is like an instinct, and he does it without thinking about it, feeling oddly safe despite the erratic beating of his heart.  
   
“How are you, Niall?” Bressie asks when they part, one hand still large and firm where it's spread across Niall's shoulder.  
   
“Been better, but also been worse,” Niall says truthfully, trying to smile through it, pass it off as a joke.  
   
It's enough to make Bressie laugh and Niall wishes it was enough to make the tension still sitting in his gut subside a bit.  
   
They slide into the booth, Bressie beside Eoghan and Niall across from the both of them. Niall passes out the drinks, keeping the whiskey for himself, thankful for the way it burns the back of his throat with every sip.  
   
Niall, for all his ability to keep track of dates and places, can't remember the last time they were together like this. It feels like ages ago, at a time when Niall still felt on top of the world, always gearing up for the next high after just having settled down from the last one. He's seen everyone intermittently, but not like this, not the three of them together. Niall almost feels like there's something missing still, like Laura's loud laugh, Greg’s drunken rambles, Willie’s sly smiles.  
   
“So, really, how have you been, Chief?” Bressie asks, nursing his beer. “I've seen enough of this one to last meself a lifetime, but I feel like I've barely seen you at all?”  
   
Niall lets out a small huff of laughter at Eoghan’s, “Fuck off,” and then shrugs in response. There's a ball of nerves wound tightly in his tummy, and he hates that it doesn't seem to get smaller despite Bressie's warm grin.  
   
It really has been a while since they've seen each other. It's been nearly since two years since the last album's come out, and Niall realizes he's seen Bressie as many times during that period. Their phone calls had dwindled down, communication settling into a pattern of erratic texts and brief interactions on Twitter. Niall feels guilty all of a sudden, like this is another thing he should've tried harder at, another tie that's nearly been severed because he can never seem to put enough effort into keeping it tethered.  
   
Bressie’s looking at him expectantly, and it’s not until Niall feels a gentle nudge against his foot under the table that he finally gives a sheepish grin and shrugs. “Dunno, if I’m being completely honest. Things were okay for a while, I suppose. But then it wasn’t as good. And now I’m here.”  
   
He knows it’s not much of an answer, but Niall’s not really sure of what else to say. It’s hard for him to explain what exactly he’s been feeling, how every day in London made him feel more and more like a bird trapped in a cage, wings beating fast against the bars in attempt to escape. He doesn’t know how to articulate how much freer he’s been feeling back here in Dublin, like even the air is cleaner now that he’s somewhere he can stretch his feathers a bit. He knows the feeling intimately the same way he knows the feel of a guitar string against his fingers, but articulating is different. The words get lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth until it becomes a jumbled mess on his tongue.  
   
Bressie’s mouth is set in a straight line, and Niall feels it again, the nudge against his foot under the table. He nudges back this time, and something settles in his chest when Bressie hooks their ankles together, anchoring Niall to his seat.  
   
“That’s shit, Chief,” Bressie says bluntly, and it’s hard to tell why it’s that of all things that makes Niall’s shoulders sag in relief.  
   
“It is,” he agrees with a smile that’s easier than he’s expecting it to be.  
   
Eoghan’s looking between the two of them, grin slowly unfurling on his face when he seems to notice the newly found ease in Niall’s stature.  
   
“I tried to get you to open up all night and got nowhere, and all he had to say is ‘That’s shit,’” Eoghan says incredulously. “Fucking unbelievable. Both of you, truly. Unbelievable.”  
   
Niall’s laughter bubbles out of him loud and sudden, and he covers his eyes, letting it spill out while Bressie laughs just as wholeheartedly from across the table. It’s such a good fucking feeling, being able to laugh like this, freely and openly with little worry.  
   
“Sorry, mate, guess Brez has got that magic touch,” Niall says when his laughter’s calmed down a little.  
   
Eoghan just rolls his eyes, finishing the last of his drink with a, “I’m sure he does,” that makes Niall’s face heat up. His ankle is still hooked with Bressie’s and there’s a part of him that wants to move back into his own space, but there’s an even bigger part of him that craves the contact he hasn’t felt in so long, so for now, he decides to keep it there as long as Bressie will let him.  
   
“Think it’s your round, McDermott,” Bressie says, elbowing Eoghan in the ribs.  
   
In response, Eoghan groans exaggeratedly, but he’s already scooting out of the booth, taking the empty glasses with him. Niall’s still got half his drink left, so he waves off Eoghan’s request to get him another, instead wrapping his fingers around his glass and taking another sip.  
   
“I’ve missed you, Niall,” Bressie says when Eoghan’s made his way over to the bar. “I know we didn’t leave things at the right place before, but I want us to be okay, y’know?”  
   
Niall nods, hand tightening around his glass almost instinctually. He wants that too, of course he does. But even with the tension breaking and the loosening in his chest Niall knows that it won’t be that easy.  
   
Niall thinks about another night that’s very similar to this one despite being years ago and in a completely different city. He remembers the salty taste of chips and the sweetness of the drink Laura pushed him into having. He remembers stumbling into an empty flat, Bressie’s hands on his skin and his mouth on Niall’s throat. He remembers the panic they’d both felt in the morning, and how it wasn’t enough to stop them from making the same mistake over, and over, and over again.  
   
“I think we should take this slow?” Niall says, and it comes out almost like a question. There’s a ring of condensation left behind from his glass and he runs his finger through it, distorting it until it’s shapeless against the grainy wood of the table. “Bressie, I’m going to be honest. I have no fucking idea what I’m doing right now. And I could really use your support, and like, I want to make things okay, too, but I think I need time to get it there.”  
   
Niall’s heart is pumping loud in his ears. He feels open and vulnerable, laying his feelings out like this when he usually keeps them so close to his chest. He’s never had the liberty of doing things at his own pace, not with anything. There’s not a single thing in Niall’s life that hasn’t felt rushed and urgent since the moment he first stepped onto that stage on The X-Factor. If there’s one thing Niall’s learned to appreciate in the past couple years, it’s taking his time and enjoying things as they happen instead of always thinking about what will happen next and planning three or four steps into the future.  
   
Niall’s stomach drops for a second when Bressie moves his foot back under his own chair, but then he lays his hand on top of Niall’s on the table, strong and large and warm. “We can take all the time you need, Chief. I’m always here for you. Whatever way you want me.”  
   
There’s a lump forming in Niall’s throat and he swallows around it thickly. He squeezes Bressie’s hand, and after letting go, he drops his own into his lap, twisting his fingers together nervously. Despite his nerves, Niall still feels lighter, more at ease than he has been around Bressie in a long while. He revels in the feeling just for a second, the warmth of Bressie’s smile washing over him as he does.  
   
Things are far from perfect, but Niall feels like they’re starting to slot together. Dublin is already starting to feel more like home.  
   
\--  
   
The guitar in Niall’s living room is horribly out of tune the first time he picks it up after moving in, and he nearly winces at the way the sound grates against his ears. He takes the guitar into the smallest guestroom where the acoustics are better and plops down on the bed, making himself comfortable before he starts turning the pegs with expert fingers. The process is familiar and calming, something Niall can do without really thinking, and it’s just what he needs today.  
   
Niall’s been in Dublin for over a month now, and for the first time, he’s feeling restless and jittery. He’s not exactly sure what it is, but Niall knows that as soon as he’d woken up that morning, he felt as if his skin was stretching too tight across his bones and the energy coursing through him was angry and agitated. He thinks he might have had a bad dream, a nightmare, one of the ones you can’t remember when you wake but that leave your whole day a tip because of the way they leave you restless and irritated.  
   
The whole day was filled with half-finished tasks. Niall had tried to go on a run, but felt too tired halfway through, turning back and heading back to his flat before he finished even a quarter of his usual route. He’d tried to cook, to clean, to fix-up some of the still broken-down odds and ends of the flat, but nothing could hold his attention for too long and everything just left him frustrated and exhausted.  
   
Niall had spent nearly an hour sitting on the couch, flipping through channels, unable to settle on one thing, before his eyes landed on the guitar in the corner. He hadn’t touched it once since moving up, and thought that maybe today was the day to give it a go.  
   
The weight of the guitar is familiar in Niall’s lap, the press of the metal strings soothing against his fingers. The static in his brain tunes down a little as he focuses on notes and pitches, tuning the guitar until he’s absolutely satisfied and then playing a few easy chords to help him get into the rhythm of it.  
   
It’s been awhile since Niall’s written on his own. He’s not used to doing this outside of a hotel room or a studio, doesn’t know where to start without Julian throwing around ideas or Liam humming simple tunes under his breath that he wants Niall to elaborate. Niall lets out a heavy sigh, nearly ready to give up on this too, before remembering the notebook in his bedroom, the one with scribbles of lyrics and notes and chord progressions, the one he’s been hiding for months. It’s as good a place to start as any.  
   
The book is tucked away in the back of his nightstand, along with the scrapbook Eoghan and Laura had given him for his birthday one year and an old drawing of Zayn’s that he had framed and didn’t have the heart to throw away. There’s other things in there too, things he didn’t know what to do with or things he didn’t want to remember he had. Niall nearly feels guilty that he has so many things that should be of importance stashed away where he doesn’t have to think about them.  
   
Niall grabs the book and takes it back to the other room, flipping through pages, trying to find something to work with. The writing is mostly just scribbles, a lot of it not even his, and most of it uninspiring to say the least. There’s a page in the middle of the book that he stops at, though, heart skipping a beat when he sees the words scrawled across there.  
   
Niall chews on the corner of his lip, eyes scanning the page, snippets of words like _home_ and _comfort_ and _safety_ jumping out at him. He remembers this, remembers a flat in London and a stormy night near Christmas. His belly was full of takeaway and his body felt warm and loose from a few bottles of beer. It was one of his first nights writing with Bressie, one of their only nights writing together. They’d always worked well together, but Niall was easily distracted.  
   
That night was the first time they’d kissed, Niall’s notebook dropping to the floor, a few pages falling out of the weak binding. He remembers straddling Bressie’s hips, sitting in his lap, Bressie’s hands on his waist. He remembers being so nervous he could barely breathe, turning his snapback around with trembling fingers so the brim wouldn’t bump against Bressie’s forehead, and slotting their mouths together like he’d wanted to do for ages. He remembers the hitch of breath in the back of Bressie’s throat, and how Niall didn’t relax until he finally felt Bressie’s lips moving against his in return.  
   
Niall reaches behind him for his guitar, strumming out the chord progression he has scribbled down in the margins. He doesn’t quite remember the melody they’d been working on together, not when his mind is still a bit foggy with thoughts of Bressie’s large hands on his bare skin and the feel of his stubble against his jaw, but Niall can hear a new melody somewhere in his head, something soft and sweet and maybe a little sad, and he finds it’s easy to map out on paper.  
   
He loses himself in the song in a way he hasn’t in a long time. Writing’s never come as easy to him as it has for Liam or Louis, but it’s like all of Niall’s pent up energy for the day is leaking out of him through the ink of his pen. The words flow easily, the music even more so, and soon, he’s got half of a workable piece put down permanently in a hurried scrawl. Niall’s hand is cramped but something settles deep in his chest and for the first time the whole day, he feels relaxed. He’s proud to have finally accomplished something.  
   
\--  
   
Niall’s still working through the song hours later, and he’s surprised when he finds the sun setting outside his window. He’s got the perfect view from his bed, and he smiles softly at the pinks and oranges bleeding across the sky and leaving the whole city aflame in their glow.  
   
He frowns, though, when he looks back at his journal. There’s something about the hook to the song that he just can’t perfect, a missing word or phrase that’s on the tip of his tongue but untranslatable on paper. It’s been bugging him for ages, and he pulls at his hair for a moment, frustrated beyond belief.  
   
Beside him, Niall’s phone lies face down and on silent. He picks it up, only glancing at his notifications briefly before opening up the contacts. His finger hovers only momentarily before he’s tapping on Bressie’s name, and he holds his breath, pressing the phone to his ear before he can change his mind.  
   
Bressie picks up after the third ring with a, “Hiya, Niall, what’s up?” and Niall pretends that it doesn’t make his heart race a little.  
   
“Can you help me with something?” Niall asks.  
   
Bressie sounds a bit concerned when he says, “Of course, what is it?”  
   
“Nothing serious. Been having trouble with this song. Wanted a second opinion.”  
   
Niall’s not a fan of sharing his work in its early phases, but he’s itching to get this piece down when he’s so, _so_ close. He still thinks the song is just as much Bressie’s as it is his, and sharing it with him at this point just seems right.  
   
“Oh, alright,” Bressie says, voice colored in surprise like that’s not exactly what he was expecting, “let’s hear it.”  
   
Niall situates himself on the bed again, and puts the phone on speaker. “Here goes nothing.”  
   
His fingers shake a little as he starts the opening chords he’d just perfected, but his voice is stronger as he sings the lyrics, most of them from memory. Bressie’s patiently quiet on the other end of the line, but Niall’s aware of his soft breathing, and by the time he tapers out the last few notes of the bridge, he’s itching to know what Bressie thinks.  
   
“It’s not finished yet,” Niall says, shrugging even though he knows Bressie can’t see him. “But it’s something, right?”  
   
“Shit, that’s like, really good,” Bressie says. “I remember this song, Niall. It’s the one we worked on, isn’t it? That night in London.”  
   
“Yeah,” Niall confirms, clearing his throat after when he realizes his voice is a bit thick. “Came across it again today. Felt inspired.”  
   
The memory of that night hangs thick and heavy between them, even through the phone. Niall knows Bressie remembers, knows he can’t forget what happened in between the lines of the song. Niall’s the one who said he wanted to take things slow, though, so he doesn’t mention it, and Bressie doesn’t either.  
   
“It’s sounds good,” Bressie repeats instead, “loads better than before. You’ve really got something here, Niall.”  
   
Niall feels pride warm in his chest, the heat of it rising to his cheeks as he ducks his head with a smile. “It’s really not much. And this hook in the chorus has been fucking me over all day. I really wanted you to be the one to help me with it. Wouldn’t feel right with anyone else.”  
   
Bressie’s quiet for a minute, only the sound of his breathing coming in through the receiver. Niall holds his own breath, letting it out with a huff when Bressie finally says, “Play it again for me? Let’s see if we can work this out.”  
   
Niall grins, once again picking up his guitar and playing through the familiar chords as Bressie listens quietly on the other end of the line.  
   
\--  
   
There are about three or four workable songs that Niall comes across in his journal, and he throws himself into them, writing and rewriting half-familiar lines until his fingers are numb and his wrists ache. Each song brings with it some kind of memory, mostly of a hotel room in a far-off country, but also of the sticky sweet smell of Louis’s blunt, the powerful feeling of Liam controlling a room of writers, the jut of Julian’s hip underneath his head as they try to translate Niall’s emotions into words. It’s a lot, and Niall gets lost in it, glad for the distraction, more than glad that he’s finally doing something more than fixing dodgy pipes.  
   
Niall realizes quickly that his favorite place to write is the balcony. He has a wonderful view overlooking the city, and there’s something refreshing about the sun on his face even when there’s hardly any warmth to it these days. He can sit there for hours, sometimes wrapped up in blankets, other times with warms cups of tea, and lose himself in words and chords and melodies.  
   
There’s a tune from a couple years ago, something he was working on for the fifth album that he didn’t finish in time, that Niall’s returned to, and he’s going over it again when his phone starts buzzing beside him. He’s tempted to ignore it, but he’s been stuck on the bridge for ages now, and his curiosity is piqued when he sees it’s Harry’s face filling the screen. Harry hasn’t called him in ages.  
   
“Harry, hi,” Niall says.  
   
“How are you, Niall?” Harry asks. He sounds the same, which Niall supposes is to be expected. There’s no reason for him to sound different from the last time they’d spoken like this a couple months ago.  
   
“Not bad, doing some writing,” Niall says. He leans back on the chair he’s got out on the balcony, stretching out his stiff legs and rubbing at his knee absent-mindedly. He’s wearing joggers, and even with the scar hidden, he can always feel it underneath the thin fabric.  
   
“Anything good?” Harry asks, voice teasing and light.  
   
It’s mostly quiet on Harry’s end, and Niall wonders where he is. Could be anywhere. A hotel room, the tour bus. Maybe Harry’s back in London, staying with friends or even at that old house of his that never seems to be done renovations. It’s hard to tell, and Niall’s past the days of keeping direct tabs of exactly where everyone is.  
   
“Probably better than that shite you’ve got on the radio,” Niall answers, the words leaving his mouth before he can think about it. He nearly freezes until Harry laughs loudly, that barking one he always does and tries to hide behind his hand.  
   
“Well, you’re going to have to play me some of these masterpieces when I’m in Dublin next week,” Harry say.  
   
Niall leans back in his chair and says, “Is that why you called, then?”  
   
“Yeah, want you to come to my show. Could get you tickets and stuff if you want.”  
   
Niall considers it. He hasn’t been to one of Harry’s shows yet, and even now the idea is a bit daunting. He doesn’t know how he’ll feel, seeing Harry up there alone, especially when they’ve barely spoken while he’s been on tour. Sometimes Niall feels like Harry’s just another face in the magazines, and not like someone he’d once known as well as he knew himself.  
   
Talking to him now is easy, but Niall’s not sure how it will be when they’re face-to-face. Niall squeezes at his thighs, still considering, when Harry says, “Niall, c’mon, I miss you. I haven’t seen you in ages.”  
   
Niall sighs. He’s never been able to deny Harry anything, and he knows he’s not the only one. It’ll be good for him probably, seeing Harry again. He knows it’s stupid, complaining about how distant him and Harry have become and then avoiding him when he gets the chance. It’s an endless cycle that Niall’s honestly a bit tired of being stuck in.  
   
“Can, I, uh, bring someone?” Niall asks finally. There’s a loose thread in his joggers, and Niall pulls at it, twisting it tight around his finger until the skin surrounding it turns white.  
   
“You can bring all of Dublin if you want,” Harry replies and Niall finds himself laughing loudly, picturing the smirk on Harry’s face clearly.  
   
“Well put me down for two tickets for now,” he says. “I’ll let you know if I need a couple thousand more.”  
   
“Two tickets for Niall James. Got it. Can’t wait to see you, Niall.”  
   
“Yeah, you too, Harry,” Niall says. The familiar ball of nerves returns to his stomach, but there’s an underlying excitement there as well as he realizes that he truly means it.  
   
\--  
   
The reality of having to see Harry in person doesn’t hit Niall for a couple of days, and when it does, he’s back to that restless energy, a gnawing in his stomach making it hard for him to relax and breathe. He tries to work on the song more, but it’s like he’s hit a wall again after the initial breakthrough, and he makes little progress during the week.  
   
One of those days that Niall’s ready to explode out of his skin, he finds himself nearly twenty minutes away from his flat, standing outside Bressie’s door and shuffling nervously from foot to foot. They’ve spoken only a few times since the night out with Eoghan, and Niall doesn’t know if it’s okay for him to just pop around like this. He’s not even sure if Bressie’s home, and he hates that there used to be a time when that didn’t even matter, when he could let himself in and wait around until Bressie came back without feeling like he was imposing.  
   
Niall has to take a few deep breaths before he finally knocks on the door, and he lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding when he hears shuffling on the other side and Bressie’s voice calling out to say he’s coming.  
   
“Niall, hi,” Bressie says, sounding a bit surprised when he opens the door.  
   
Bressie’s wearing an apron of all things, and Niall tries to hold back a smile, can’t help a small giggle before he says, “Sorry to drop in unannounced. Um, are you busy?”  
   
“Always got time for you, Chief. Was just making lunch. You’re free to join me.”  
   
Niall’s barely eaten all day, too full of nervous energy to think about food for once, but whatever Bressie’s making smells good, even from where he’s standing, so he nods, letting himself in as Bressie steps back.  
   
Bressie’s place in Dublin isn’t as familiar to Niall as the one he’d had back in London, and he looks around him curiously as Bressie leads him back to the kitchen. Everything’s neat enough and simply decorated. There’s a few pictures on the wall, a couple of awards that Bressie’s won for his music and for the book he’d published a couple years back. Niall can’t help but smile when he spots a framed photo of the two of them, Niall looking impossibly small and young with his longer hair and braces. Sometimes he feels like those days were a lifetime ago.  
   
Niall sits at the table while Bressie goes back to the stove. He doesn’t want to stare at the broad expanse of Bressie’s back, the shift of his muscles underneath his shirt, but there’s not much for him to do, so he lets himself watch for now while Bressie’s still turned away from him.  
   
“What brings you about? Is everything okay?” Bressie asks, glancing over his shoulder with a questioning look.  
   
Niall shrugs a bit jerkily, running his hands over the denim covering his thighs. “I, um, dunno. I talked to Harry a few days ago.”  
   
“Okay,” Bressie says a bit slowly. Niall knows there’s no clear connection between Bressie’s question and his response, doesn’t know why he expects Bressie to immediately understand why a short conversation with someone who’s supposed to be one of his best mates has set him on edge all day. “How is he?”  
   
“Good. He’s on tour. Coming to play here in about a week. Wanted to meet up with me.”  
   
Niall’s fingers have found their way to his mouth, and he worries at the skin around his nails without really thinking about it. He tries to keep his voice steady, but it must not work because Bressie turns around fully, turning off the stove and giving Niall his full attention.  
   
“You don’t seem too excited,” Bressie says, words still slow, always carefully chosen.  
   
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in a long time,” Niall says with a nervous laugh. “Barely seen him at all in the past couple years. I should be excited to see him, shouldn’t I?”  
   
“Dunno if there’s really any should or shouldn’t when it comes to things like this,” Bressie says with a shrug.  
   
“I do want to see him,” Niall says truthfully, “but it’s just - well, it’s like you said the other day, it’s shit really. Everyone’s been off doing all these amazing things, and what have I been doing? Fucking about with Willie? Watching old Derby games and doing a bunch of stupid panel shows? I have nothing to show for the last two years, Brez.”  
   
Niall drops his gaze, eyes trained on his socked feet instead of Bressie. They’re an old pair, worn and comfy, patterned with brightly colored polka dots. He tries not to think about how they were a gift from Harry, a stocking stuffer from ages ago when Harry had first discovered that Niall loved a fancy sock on stage, something that was truly _him_ back when they were forced into the same tour outfits day to day.  
   
Bressie’s quiet, and Niall wonders if he’s thinking of the right thing to say or if he’s still processing Niall’s outburst. He hears footsteps across the floor, the sound of a chair scraping against linoleum as Bressie takes a seat across from him at the small table.  
   
“Do you really think Harry cares about what you have to show for these past years?”  
   
It’s a genuine question, not a rhetorical one, and Niall considers it as he wiggles his toes, watches the polka dots shift and distort with the movement. Niall knows that Harry probably doesn’t care, that he won’t pass any judgment that Niall’s just been biding his time. Niall’s doing exactly what they all talked about during their last press tour. He’s been relaxing, spending time with family, sleeping for hours and not keeping a set schedule. He’s just been doing it a lot longer than he expected to.  
   
“Harry’s not one to judge,” Niall admits, voice quieter than he expects it to be.  
   
Bressie makes a low noise in the back of his throat, and Niall finally looks up to meet his eyes. He’s got his arms crossed against his chest, legs stretched out in a mirror of Niall’s. “What’s the real problem here then, Niall? Do really care what other people think of you, or are you too wrapped up in what you think of yourself?”  
   
Niall inhales sharply. Bressie’s tone isn’t harsh, but his words are sharp. Niall’s always hated this part, how Bressie always knows exactly what he needs to hear, even if it’s the last thing he wants to think about.  
   
Niall wraps his arms around his chest like he’s trying to hold himself together. He takes deep breaths, steadying the air going in and out of his lungs while he tries to push back the lump in his throat. Niall rises from his seat without really thinking about it, but he’s rooted to the spot, still trying to keep it all together. He barely notices Bressie getting out of his seat too, trapped in a bubble of his own thoughts, his own emotions, once again feeling like that bird beating its wings against its cage until Bressie’s right in front of him.  
   
“Hey, you’re alright, Chief,” Bressie says softly, his touch hesitant when he places his hand on Niall’s face.  
   
Niall lets him touch, closes his eyes and allows Bressie to rub his thumb across his cheek before dropping lower and rubbing soothing circles in the spot on Niall’s collarbone that he always enjoys best.  
   
“Suppose I do care a bit too much,” Niall finally says when his breathing’s evened and Bressie’s hand has stilled. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not pushing myself. Like I can do more but I’m holding myself back.”  
   
“I know how it feels, Niall, when everything seems like too much and not enough at the same time. I wish I could tell you when you’re doing enough, but unfortunately that’s up to you to decide.”  
   
Niall nods, bringing his hand up to wrap around Bressie’s wrist. Bressie gets the hint and lets Niall tangle their fingers together. It’s a simple point of contact, just enough to keep Niall feeling more grounded than before. For Niall, this thing they have together has always felt like too much and not enough at once, and he wonders if they’ll ever find a middle ground. For the moment, though, standing here in Bressie’s kitchen with their hands clasped and their socked toes pressed together, is enough.  
   
\--  
   
Niall’s just coming home from a jog around the city, hair damp and plastered to his forehead, muscles aching in a satisfying way that he always misses on days he’s too lazy to get himself out of bed in the morning. He feels good, light in a way he hasn’t properly felt since Harry’s call.  
   
Just a few days ago, Niall had received a message about the tickets and where to pick them up, and it was enough to set Niall in a frenzy that ended in him running to Bressie again. He’d felt a bit embarrassed, turning up on Bressie’s doorstep twice in the same week like he used to when he was eighteen and London was big and scary and too much all the time and Bressie was the only thing that made him feel a bit at home. But Bressie had just smiled, tugging Niall inside and popping in a film until Niall had calmed down some.  
   
Niall thinks he feels a bit more ready now to see Harry. They’re meeting at the arena, and Niall’s actually excited about it. He misses the pre-show excitement, the buzz of people running around, the nerves and jitters and feeding off the energy of the people coming through the doors. Maybe he won’t be performing, but Niall knows that just being back stage will be enough for him right now.  
   
Niall punches in the code on the keypad by the door, and freezes as soon as he’s inside. There’s a familiar pair of boots in the hallway, lying one on top of each other. They’re certainly not his. Niall never leaves his shoes in the hall and he knows his boots are tucked away safely in his closet.  
   
He has a feeling he knows who the boots belong to, and sure enough, he’s less surprised than he should be when he walks into the living room and finds Harry laid out on his couch. Harry’s hair is shorter these days, finally growing out again after he’d donated nearly ten inches of it. He’s tucked up small on the couch, arms folded across his chest, and Niall’s unsure of whether or not he’s actually asleep.  
   
“What are you doing here?” Niall asks flatly. Harry’s shoulders twitch just slightly, barely startling. Not asleep then.  
   
“Wanted to surprise you,” Harry answers, voice deep and slow in that way it gets when he’s on the brink of drifting off. “Your couch is really comfy.”  
   
Niall frowns and crosses his arms, the familiar itch of irritation building underneath his skin. Harry’s presence, here in his house of all places, is throwing him off guard, and he feels oddly exposed in his shorts and running vest. He’s spent so long preparing for this morning, trying to get himself comfortable with the idea of being in Harry’s presence again, and he feels like his flimsy defenses are falling apart like a house of cards.  
   
“How the fuck did you get in here?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady. Niall’s glad his hands are tucked by his sides because he’s sure they’d be shaking if they weren’t.  
   
“Did you know your doorman has a daughter?” Harry asks in response.  
   
Niall furrows his brows, biting back the sarcasm on the tip of his tongue. He’s always hated when Harry did this, avoided giving a straight answer when Niall wants to have any semblance of a real conversation. “I signed an autograph for her when I moved in,” he says instead.  
   
“He recognized me, said it’d be alright if I went on up.”  
   
Niall resists squeezing the bridge of his nose in frustration. He would have to talk to that doorman of his. “There’s a passcode to get in here.”  
   
Harry opens his eyes finally, looking over at Niall with a teasing smirk. Niall’s tummy squirms, and he gets a flash of a much younger Harry making the same expression on stage, in a hotel room, on a moving bus. “I was prepared to wait outside for you, but I figured I would try your usual code. You should change it up sometime. Might have people breaking in.”  
   
Niall recognizes the look on Harry’s face. It’s the one he has when he thinks he’s said something particularly clever or funny, and there was a time where Niall would’ve been laughing beside him, or at least rolling his eyes with a reluctant smile, but he can feel the anger welling up inside of him and it’s steadily becoming harder to control.  
   
“You don’t seem happy to see me,” Harry says with a frown when Niall doesn’t reply.  
   
He’s sitting up now, his hair a mess, clothes a bit askew, but it’s the most serious he’s looked since Niall’s come in, all traces of laughter gone from his face quite suddenly.  
   
“I’m sorry that I’m not too pleased that you decided it was alright to come in here and make yourself at home without my permission,” Niall replies, a hard edge to his voice that makes Harry flinch.  
   
“Sorry, I - I didn’t realize. We used to do this kind of stuff all the time.”  
   
“Well, a lot of things have changed haven’t they?” Niall thinks his heart is racing even faster than it had been during his run, and he turns on his heel, feeling suffocated in the room despite all its empty space. It’s like Harry takes up so much more of it than the small corner of the couch he’s sat on, and Niall needs to be somewhere else, anywhere else, at least for a moment.  
   
He makes his way to the kitchen, acutely aware that Harry’s following after him. He doesn’t say anything, though, opening the fridge door with enough force to make things rattle with the mixing tinkle of glass on plastic. Niall still doesn’t look at Harry, doesn’t acknowledge that they’re both in the kitchen together when all Niall wants is space, and instead drinks from the bottle of water he’s pulled from the fridge. The Nutribullet Harry had gotten him when he’d moved into his flat in London is sitting on the counter, staring at him somewhat disdainfully just like he’s sure Harry is right behind him.  
   
Even if Harry doesn’t give Niall much space, he gives Niall room to breathe. Niall counts backwards from ten and then back up again while he takes small sips from his bottle, and he’s gotten through half of it when Harry finally asks, “Are you going to tell me what you mean by that?”  
   
Niall goes to shrug, but Harry grabs his shoulder, turning him around with an uncharacteristic show of force.  
   
“What the fuck?” Niall sputters angrily, pushing Harry’s hand away.  
   
“Don’t avoid the question,” Harry says firmly, “what has your problem been? We’ve barely spoken in months, and the first time I hear from you it’s to find out you’re running away to Dublin. I invite you to my show and you can’t even bare to show up alone and you’re not happy at all to actually see me. What is going on?”  
   
Niall opens his mouth to answer, but his tongue feels too thick and heavy, the words getting lost before he can say anything. Harry’s staring at him, eyebrows furrowed while Niall continues to feel stuck and frozen in his place.  
   
“Niall, talk to me,” Harry says, voice softer, almost pleading almost with him when he hasn’t said anything.  
   
Niall swallows around the thickness in his throat, digging his fingernails into his palm. “I have missed you,” is the first thing he manages to get out. “Fuck, I miss you, and I miss Liam and Louis also. Even when I see them it doesn’t feel right. I miss when London felt like home, when there was something more for me here. I miss _doing_ things. Things that matter and things that make me happy. I -”  
   
Niall doesn’t get to finish, Harry’s arms coming around him so suddenly that he lets out a yelp of surprise as he finds his nose pressed to Harry’s neck. Neither of them say anything, Niall just tucking himself into Harry and revelling in the familiarity of the embrace. Harry still uses the same woodsy cologne and the two of them fit into each other easily like  puzzle pieces.  
   
Niall’s the first to break the silence, mumbling, “Sorry if I’ve been acting like a twat.”  
   
“Not like you’re the only one,” Harry replies with a small laugh. “I probably shouldn’t have broken into your flat.”  
   
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Niall says dryly, but there’s a smile on his face that makes Harry giggle.  
   
“It is good to see you,” Niall adds. “Nice seeing your face in person for once.”  
   
“Yours too,” Harry grins, “though, you could use a bit of sun, I think.”  
   
Harry laughs loudly when Niall swipes at the hand he uses to pat his cheek, and brings him into another hug that feels more like the ones they used to share before.  
   
\--  
   
Harry insists on making Niall lunch, an apology he says, for breaking into Niall’s flat. Niall sits on the counter, keeping an eye on things as Harry moves around the kitchen, pulling out food from the fridge and pots and pans from the cabinets like this is his own house.  
   
“You realize this flat is laid out almost exactly like the one in London, right?” Harry asks, tapping on Niall’s knee lightly. Niall opens his legs a bit, and lets Harry get at the drawer behind them.  
   
“I’m a creature of habit,” Niall says with a shrug.  
   
“Wasn’t the whole point of moving out here to break out of your habits, though? To experience something new?” Harry asks. He goes to look over the onions sizzling lightly in a pan, stirring them so they don’t burn.  
   
“Not exactly. I could’ve gone anywhere if I wanted something new. I came here because I wanted something that felt like home.”  
   
“But why not go back to Bobby’s then?”  
   
Niall lets out a snort. “Would you go back to living at Anne’s?”  
   
Surprisingly enough, Harry shrugs. “Maybe. Plenty of people our age live with their parents. It wouldn’t be so weird.”  
   
“Mullingar’s like London now. It’s familiar, but there’s not much for me there.”  
   
“And what’s here?” Harry asks, moving on from the onions to the sweet smelling sauce on the next burner. Niall’s stomach gives a small growl at the scent filling the kitchen when Harry lifts the lid. He’s missed Harry’s cooking.  
   
“Opportunity,” Niall says dryly.  
   
Harry looks over his shoulder, wary enough to make Niall laugh loudly, head tipping back until it hits the cabinet behind him.  
   
“Shut up,” Harry mumbles, but Niall can see the hint of a smile breaking through, Harry’s nose scrunching up the way it does when he’s failing to keep a straight face.  
   
“Not really wrong, am I? Could work on some music here. Writing, recording, anything. Plus, I have friends here. Eoghan and Laura and Bressie and all them who’ve left London too.”  
   
Harry adds the onions to the sauce, covering it again with the lid before turning around and smirking at Niall. “Ah, of course, Bressie’s here. And how is he?”  
   
Niall’s face warms up a little, but he tries to laugh it off, simply answering, “He’s fine. Y’know him, always busy with things.”  
   
“Not too busy to come to my show, though?” Harry asks, dimples popping when Niall’s jaw drops a little in surprise.  
   
“How did you know that?”  
   
“Had my suspicions. Just because we haven’t spoken in a while doesn’t mean that I don’t know you, Niall. As you said, you’re a creature of habit.”  
   
The grin on Harry’s face means he’s definitely noticed the steadily darkening color of Niall’s skin and Niall wishes he could blame the stove for the heat rising to his face. “We’re not doing that anymore.”  
   
Harry studies Niall’s face, and he feels just as exposed as he did earlier despite having changed back into his usual ripped jeans and t-shirt. Niall’s not sure what Harry finds in his expression, but it’s enough to make Harry turn back to the stove before saying, “Maybe not right now. But we both know how easy it is to fall back into these kind of things. Just, be careful, Niall.”  
   
Niall lets out a heavy sigh, leaning his head back against the cabinet again with a heavy thunk as he lets Harry’s words sink in.  
   
\--  
   
Harry calls a car for himself right after lunch, leaving Niall with a quick hug as he apologizes for running off so quickly.  
   
“I’m seeing you in a few hours, Harry, it’s not a big deal,” Niall says, pushing at Harry with a laugh when Harry pulls him into another hug.  
   
“I know,” Harry says with a smile. “I know you’ve missed me, though, so just wanted to make sure you were okay.”  
   
Niall practically shoves him out into the hall after that, Harry’s loud laughter carrying through even after Niall’s shut the door. Harry’s already late to arrive at the arena, which means Niall doesn’t have much time himself to get ready. He’s got an outfit picked out already, though, so it doesn’t take long before he’s putting the finishing touches on his hair. He rarely wears it up these days, but he likes tousling it up enough so it at least looks a bit artful and less like he’d just rolled out of bed.  
   
He gets a text from Bressie just as he pulls his old Chelsea boots out from the closet, grabbing everything he needs quickly before making his way downstairs.  
   
Bressie’s waiting outside Niall’s flat, leaning against the door of his car and looking at his phone when Niall gets outside. He’s dressed up a bit in a leather jacket and a form-fitting button-up, and he looks so good that Niall has to steady his breathing a bit before approaching him all the way.  
   
“Ready for this?” Niall asks in greeting when he gets close enough.  
   
Bressie looks up from his phone, smile spreading slowly across his face. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”  
   
“I, uh, saw Harry today already,” Niall admits, rubbing the back of his neck a bit sheepishly.  
   
“Really?” Bressie asks. “How did that go?”  
   
“Bit rough at first. But we’re okay. I’m okay,” Niall says, meaning every word.  
   
Bressie looks relieved, and Niall feels something twist in his gut at the softness of his features. “That’s good, Niall. I’m glad. Guessing you don’t need me to go with you anymore, then?” he asks, voice teasing.  
   
“Don’t be an idiot, of course you still need to go,” Niall says with a laugh. “Do you know what I had to go through to get these tickets? Harry Styles shows don’t come cheap.”  
   
“Sorry, pop star. I forgot these free tickets must’ve cost you a fortune.”  
   
“Damn straight. Now, let’s go, we’re going to be late.”  
   
\--  
   
Being backstage is just as hectic as Niall remembers and he suddenly misses it all so much that there’s a sharp ache in his chest. This feels so much more like home than anything else. More than London, more than Dublin, probably more than going back to Mullingar and sharing drinks with Bobby as they watch Derby games.  
   
Harry’s kept a lot of their old crew, and they all greet Niall with large smiles and proper, strong hugs. Sarah’s got dinner waiting for him, and he eats surrounded by familiar faces on a blue polka-dotted table cloth that makes his chest feel tight. Bressie doesn’t leave his side, a hand large and warm on the small of his back or else squeezing the back of his neck comfortingly when it seems like things may be feeling like a lot.  
   
Niall’s chatting with one of the stage hands when Harry finally gets out of hair and makeup, embracing Niall like it’s been ages and not hours that they’ve seen each other.  
   
“Glad you could make it,” he says to Bressie, shaking his hand with a large grin, the charming one that Niall knows throws people off-guard sometimes.  
   
“How could I give up a chance to see the Harry Styles live in concert?” Bressie asks, making Harry snort out an embarrassingly loud laugh.  
   
Harry’s got a bit of time before he’s due to go on stage, so they hang out in his dressing room for a while, swapping stories and talking shit. Harry tells them about his life on tour, what’s been different and what’s been the same, leaving Niall nearly in his tears with his laughter as he recounts the latest pranks pulled on him by his opening band.  
   
“They’re the opening band, shouldn’t I be pranking them?” Harry asks with a pout as Niall buries his head in Bressie’s shoulder, still cackling about the boys in the band replacing Harry’s microphone with a banana during his mid-show outfit change.  
   
“You couldn’t pull a proper prank to save your life,” Niall says with a last chuckle. Bressie’s arm had come around his waist at some point, and he settles into his side easily, ignoring the look Harry sends him as he does.  
   
Harry doesn’t retaliate, pout deepening before his lips start curling into a smirk instead. “It’s not a prank, but I do have an idea.”  
   
“What’s that then?” Niall asks curiously.  
   
“Come on stage with me,” Harry insists, eyes glinting with excitement. “It’d be wicked, Niall. Fans would love it.”  
   
Niall tenses, Bressie’s hand squeezing at his waist immediately. “I don’t know, Harry -”  
   
“Please, Niall. It’d be a laugh. We could sing ‘What Makes You Beautiful’,” Harry says, nearly pleading.  
   
“Definitely not then,” Niall says with a shaky laugh.  
   
“I think it sounds like a good idea, Chief,” Bressie says before Harry can ask again. “You haven’t been on a stage in ages. Might be fun for you.”  
   
Niall looks up at him, biting at the corner of his lip. He’s unsure still, heart beating nervously in his ribcage. There’s something underneath the nerves, though, a buzzing kind of excitement that he doesn’t even remember when he last felt. “You really think it’s a good idea?”  
   
“‘Course,” Bressie says with a nod and another squeeze at Niall’s waist.  
   
“You don’t have to if you really don’t want to,” Harry adds, “but I miss performing with you, Niall. We can sing whatever you’re comfortable with. Something of mine, something of ours, something else entirely. Band will play whatever.”  
   
Niall mulls it over for a second, thinks about the feeling of being in front of a crowd, the screams, the blood pounding in ears, the adrenaline running through his veins. He looks at Harry and nods before he can talk himself out of it. “Yeah, okay.”  
   
Harry lets out a small cheer, tackling Niall against the couch in excitement, the two of them giggling against each other like they’re eighteen and on top of the world again.  
   
\--  
   
Harry’s voice filters backstage where Niall’s standing, but Niall barely hears it, heart beating heavily and the sound of it filling his ears. He fiddles with his in-ears, biting nervously at his worn down nails as he waits for his cue to get on stage.  
   
“You’re gonna smash it, Niall,” Bressie says behind him, massaging Niall’s shoulders in attempt to calm him down a bit.  
   
Niall’s not sure if he’s nervous or if it’s just the anticipation making him jittery. The crowd looks absolutely massive from where he’s standing, every single seat filled, screams reverberating off the walls of the closed arena. It’s not the biggest crowd he’s played to, not by a longshot, but it’s been so long since he’s been in this position that he’s not sure what to do with himself.  
   
The music stops, crowd screaming as Harry takes a drink from his water bottle before smiling straight into the camera. He starts to speak, the words hard to hear over the shouts and the blood rushing through Niall’s ears. Niall’s buzzing out of his skin, can feel the excitement everywhere, tingling through him from the tips of his fingers all the way down to his toes.  
   
“Niall,” Bressie says, leaning down to whisper right in Niall’s ear where he’s got one of the in-ears hanging out. Niall hums in return to show he’s heard, the feel of Bressie so close, his breath hot on Niall’s skin, overwhelming as it mixes with his all-consuming excitement. “I’m proud of you for doing this, Chief.”  
   
“Thanks,” Niall lets out with a nervous huff of laughter.  
   
Bressie kisses his cheek then, quick and light, and Niall’s thoughts barely have a second to linger on it before the roar of the crowd crescendos higher than before and he’s being pulled on stage by someone on Harry’s crew.  
   
The lights are brighter than Niall remembers, practically blinding as he looks into the screaming crowd. He can’t control the smile on his face, though, overwhelmed with that familiar feeling of knowing he’s exactly where he belongs.  
   
Harry’s waiting for him at the end of the catwalk, dimples fully blown with his smile, the large genuine one that makes his eyes crinkles and his nose scrunch. When Niall reaches him, Harry pulls him into the hug, and the noise gets even louder, Niall drowning it out by tucking his face into Harry’s neck for a second before pulling it back and waving out to everyone.  
   
“Niall, how’s it feel to be here tonight?” Harry asks when the screaming’s subsided a bit, slinging an arm across Niall’s shoulder and putting his mic between the two of them despite the fact that Niall’s been fitted with one of his usual headsets.  
   
“Fucking incredible,” Niall answers honestly, laughing loud and bright. His heart is pumping fast and hard in his chest. He feels invincible.  
   
“Glad to hear it,” Harry says, squeezing the back of his neck. “Let’s get you a guitar, yeah? We’ll play a couple songs for the lovely people here tonight.”  
   
“You don’t know how much I’d love that,” Niall replies.  
   
While he’s being handed a guitar by one of the stagehands, Niall looks behind him, and catches Bressie smiling wide at him from back stage. It makes the butterflies in his stomach increase. He takes a look into the audience again, strumming his guitar with a loud laugh and Harry’s arm still around him. Niall finally feels like he’s at home again.  
   
\--  
   
Harry’s off again the next day, already scheduled for the last leg of his tour in the U.K.  
   
“We’ll try harder at this keeping in touch thing,” he tells Niall sincerely after the show, and Niall nods, pulling him in for one last, long hug.  
   
“Yeah, we’ll see each other soon, Harry. Promise.”  
   
Niall’s exhausted when Bressie drives him home, head resting against the window as the lights of Dublin streak past him.  
   
“You did good tonight, Niall,” Bressie says to him when they pull up in front of Niall’s flat.  
   
Niall feels the familiar warmth of pride welling in his chest as he ducks his head, an old shyness creeping up that keeps him from looking in Bressie’s eye. When he does lift his gaze, Bressie’s smiling at him softly. Niall feels like he could kiss him then probably, could lean over the console, place a hand on Bressie’s face. But he remembers Harry’s warning and just bites at the inside of his cheek instead, settling for a hug that leaves him wanting more.  
   
The next few days pass by at a steady pace with Niall falling back into the pattern of tinkering around his flat, plastering walls and fixing dodgy pipes. His song writing book lies forgotten again. Niall’s itching to pick it up, but there’s something holding him back, an indescribable hesitancy that he can’t put his finger on.  
   
He pushes it back, though, unsure of what to do with it. Working on the flat is satisfying enough for now, even if he still goes to bed restless and jittery some nights. He knows what it is now building up inside him, keeping him wired on nights he should be exhausted, but Niall’s not sure if he’s ready to deal with it yet. Instead he buries his thoughts when they go in a direction he doesn’t want them to, and he waits, hoping that he’ll get to a day where he can dig them back up again.  
   
\--  
   
Niall tries not to think about performing. He pushes it farther and farther back into his head, attempts to forget about it completely even if it’s difficult.  
   
The thought of doing things on his own is vaguely terrifying. His insides buzz angrily when he thinks about taking to the stage by himself. It was all he wanted at one point, but now, it doesn’t seem right. Going solo seemed like such an unattainable goal for so long, something he always felt like he shouldn’t want, something that he didn’t even keep open as an option. But now Niall has nothing but time and a book full of songs that are completely his own, and the idea doesn’t seem as far off as it once did.  
   
He bothers Harry about it more than once, ringing him at what must be odd hours of the day for both of them and asking things like, “How did you know?”  
   
“Know what?” Harry asks, voice low and scratchy like Niall’s woken him up.  
   
“That you wanted to, like, continue. With your music, I mean,” Niall explains. He feels nearly ready to pull his own hair out, nervous about what Harry will think about him asking these sorts of questions.  
   
“It’s the only life I know,” Harry says after a long pause that has Niall worrying that he’s fallen asleep again. “I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.”  
   
“Does it feel weird? Doing it on your own? Were you scared?” Niall asks another day, feeling out of sorts after catching up with Louis.  
   
“I’m still terrified every day I take the stage,” Harry admits. Niall can hear the ocean in the background, and it makes him smile, thinking about Harry somewhere warm and sunny, probably getting ridiculously tan while Niall gets paler every day by hiding indoors from the cold and rain outside his flat.  
   
“Is this something you want, Niall?” Harry asks when Niall hasn’t replied.  
   
“I don’t know,” Niall says truthfully. “I haven’t known what I want for a long time.”  
   
“You could do it. You’d be brilliant at it. I don’t think you realize how much you shine on stage,” Harry says softly, fondly.  
   
Niall feels his cheeks redden, and he chuckles and says, “Maybe the success is what I’m afraid of.”  
   
“You don’t have to be afraid of moving on, Niall,” Harry says, his words a punch to the gut that makes Niall wince. “Moving on doesn’t mean leaving things behind.”  
   
Niall wants to say he knows that, that it’s something he understands, but instead he swallows thickly, bidding Harry a hasty goodbye before hanging up the phone.  
   
With every question, Niall’s worry settles a little, but it never completely disappears. There’s always something holding him back. Not thinking about what he wants is easier than coming to terms with it, with trying to understand it. For now, pushing it back works, but Niall knows that it won’t work for too long.  
   
\--  
   
It snows the first week of December, soft fluffy flakes falling from the sky and blanketing everything in white. Niall’s at Bressie’s, curled up in the living room with his laptop in his lap, songwriting book lying forgotten on the floor. His toes are tucked under Bressie’s thighs, Bressie reading something on his Kindle. The whole thing feels soft, domestic, and Niall’s warm and settled for the moment.  
   
A notification pops up in the corner of Niall’s screen, and he clicks on it curiously. Liam’s sent him a link through Skype, something on YouTube followed by the comment _anything ur not telling us?_  
   
Screaming floods through his headphones immediately, and Niall has to turn down his volume quickly, giving Bressie a sheepish smile when he looks over for a second. The caption of the video says “Harry Styles and Niall Horan | Dublin 09/11/17” and Niall closes out of it right away, not bothering to watch anything more when he sees a glimpse of his own face blown out on the screen, smiling largely at the audience.  
   
_not trying to hide anything, mate_ Niall sends back, and barely a second passes before Liam’s calling him on the video chat. Niall considers ignoring it, but he’s already replied and he can’t really pretend he hasn’t seen it now.  
   
“Hey,” Niall says, poking his toes against Bressie’s thigh. Bressie looks curiously up in response and Niall continues, “Liam’s calling me on Skype, gonna take it in the other room, alright?”  
   
Bressie smiles and nods, going back to his Kindle. “‘Course, pet. That’s fine.”  
   
Niall blushes a bit at the endearment, trying not to wonder if it just slipped out of Bressie naturally like it sometimes used to when Niall talked to Harry. He takes his laptop to the guest room down the hall, answering the call as he’s walking, catching it just as it’s about to cut off.  
   
It takes a couple seconds for the picture to come in, and when it does, Niall can’t help but smile a bit at Liam’s face, pixelated but still very familiar on the screen. His beard’s thicker, the way Niall’s always preferred it, and his hair’s longer than it has been in a while, looking curly and soft.  
   
“Where are you?” Liam asks in lieu of a proper greeting.  
   
“Bressie’s place,” Niall says, settling back so he’s propped up against the hundreds of pillows on the bed. “We’re having a bit of a lazy day.”  
   
Even through the blurry video feed, Niall can catch the glee in Liam’s face at that, but he doesn’t comment, instead asking, “So you and Harry?”  
   
Niall wants to roll his eyes, seem casual about the whole thing, but he’s feeling a bit hot under the collar, and lets out a nervous laugh in response. “It just happened? I went to his show in Dublin and he invited me onstage with him. You know Harry, impossible to say no to him.”  
   
“You seem happy,” Liam says softly, and Niall manages a small smile.  
   
“It felt good, Li. Been thinking about it a lot.”  
   
And he has been. There’s nothing he misses more than performing, more than the thrill of being on stage and getting to do what he loves every night. Niall harbors his nostalgia for it like a dirty little secret, a guilty dream that he can’t shake. He knows it’s not wrong to miss it, but sometimes, it still feels like it is. It’s been a long time since Niall has wanted the solo life. There was a stretch when he couldn’t even think about it, let alone wish for it.  
   
“You looked happy up there with Harry,” Liam says softly. “Would you want to do that you think? Go on tour? Play shows?”  
   
Niall bites down on the corner of his lip. “It would feel weird. Not doing it with everyone. But I would like it, I think.”  
   
“We’d be okay with it,” Liam says, “don’t let us hold you back. There’s time for all of us still. But there’s time for you also. If this is something you feel like you have to do, then do it.”  
   
Something loosens in Niall’s chest, making it easier for him to breathe. It’s something that’s been wrapped tight within him since the show with Harry, something that’s been tightening its hold slowly like a boa constrictor squeezing his ribs.  
   
Niall’s always felt like solo projects were something to tiptoe around, something touchy that was hard to approach when all they talked about was working as a unit. It got harder with Zayn, and even harder again with Harry. It never seemed to get easier, at least not to him.  
   
Niall knows that the break is just that, a break, but he also realizes that it seems to be stretching on longer and longer. They’d planned for a few months at first, then a year, and now two. The end doesn’t seem to be in sight, and Niall can feel that old life of his slipping between his fingers like water. He knows that even when they go back to it, it’ll never be the same.  
   
But he has the chance now for something new. Something different. Maybe all he’s needed to hear is _we’re okay with it_ instead of _you’re going to be okay_. Niall’s never been too unsure of what he’s capable of, he’s never lacked confidence. He knows that he truly has something in that little book of songs of his, that he could shape what he’s been writing into something that he can be proud of.  
   
“I’ve been writing. A lot. Me and Bressie,” Niall says finally after a pause that seems to stretch on for centuries. It’s not an affirmation, but it seems to be enough for Liam whose whole face brightens instantly.  
   
“I could get you studio time,” Liam says excitedly. He’s smiling wide, eyes turned into small crescents. “You could work with me and Louis. It would be brilliant.”  
   
Niall smiles too, but shakes his head. “If I do it, I think I might want to do it here? In Camden Studios with Bressie. It feels right.”  
   
Liam nods in understanding. “I get that, bro. I’m excited to hear what you’ve been putting together. Even if you don’t want to like tour or whatever I think it would be good for you to get into the studio at least. Just make sure we’re the first to hear it.”  
   
“You, and Louis, and Harry, I promise,” Niall says sincerely, and it makes Liam smile wider.  
   
They chat a little bit longer before Liam has to go rescue a pair of his trainers from Watson and he bids Niall a hasty goodbye. Niall shuts his laptop, leaning his head back with his eyes closed.  
   
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself.  
   
His heart is racing a little, the reality of what he’s said to Liam settling in.  
   
When Niall left London, he wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, but he never expected it was this. There’s nothing Niall loves more than performing, nothing he cares more about than music, but he never expected to be doing it again. Not on his own, at least.  
   
There’s a knock on the door after a little while, and Bressie quietly asking, “Is everything okay, Niall?”  
   
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Niall answers.  
   
The door opens with a slight squeak, Bressie hovering a bit awkwardly like he’s unsure of whether or not he’s allowed to come in all the way. Niall scoots over a bit on the bed, patting the empty space beside him, and Bressie relaxes and comes to join him.  
   
They fit together easily, Bressie’s arm automatically coming up to circle around Niall’s shoulders. Niall leans into Bressie’s side, head on his chest. Keeping up boundaries hasn’t been as easy as Niall had anticipated, and the physical contact is comforting in a way that few other things are.  
   
“What did Liam want to talk about?” Bressie asks. He runs his hand through Niall’s hair gently, and Niall closes his eyes, resisting the urge to melt against Bressie further.  
   
“He found a video of me and Harry, from the Dublin show. Was asking about it,” Niall says.  
   
Niall wishes he could curl around Bressie more, the way he used to be able to, but he stops himself for now, isn’t sure he should with what he has to ask Bressie, what he wants from him now.  
   
“Is that all?” Bressie asks, prodding farther.  
   
Nerves twist uncomfortably in Niall’s belly all of a sudden, and he sits up, looking Bressie in the eye. Asking Bressie about going into the studio seems like a big step, even bigger than admitting to Liam that it’s something he wants to do. It feels like it’s a now or never thing, though, like Niall won’t be able to do if he doesn’t do it right at the moment when he’s on the brink of something huge.  
   
Niall takes a large, calming breath before saying, “We were talking and, um, I think I want to like go back into the studio? Record some of those songs we were working on? Maybe even go on a tour eventually.”  
   
Niall clenches his hand into a tight fist, fingernails digging into his palms. Bressie’s smiling, though, large and bright, and he lets out a surprised laugh.  
   
“That’s great, Niall, really. I think it’s a wonderful idea.”  
   
“Yeah?” Niall asks. Bressie’s opinion has always meant more to him than most others, and seeing the genuine excitement in Bressie’s face is making his nerves turn into something more like anticipation. “There’s something else actually.”  
   
“What is it?” Bressie asks. He covers Niall’s hand with his own, and Niall allows himself to uncurl his fingers.  
   
“Was wondering if I could do it in Camden? I would love for you to work with me on it if you have the time. Wouldn’t feel right with anybody but you at this point,” Niall says, a bit of shyness creeping into his words.  
   
Bressie’s smile grows even bigger and he takes Niall’s hand in his own, squeezing it gently. “I’d love to, Niall. I told you already, I always have time for you. I was thinking you would want to go back to London but like, I’d be honored to help you, really.”  
   
Relief floods through Niall, the same way a river flows when a dam’s been torn down. He never expected Bressie to say no, not really, but it’s good to have his approval, his support, when Niall needs it the most.  
   
\--  
   
Bressie books Niall in for the earliest date they have at Camden, moving some things around so Niall can get in some decent time before the holidays. Niall’s grateful. Now that he’s decided on recording again, he’s absolutely buzzing about it, more excited than he has been about anything in a long time.  
   
He calls his P.A. the morning after he talks to Liam, and she seems just as excited as everyone else.  
   
“I can get the paperwork drawn out by the end of the week, love,” she says, and Niall grins despite the nervous twinge in his chest.  
   
“That’s brilliant, thank you,” Niall says. It gives him enough time to think over exactly what he wants to do, whether he wants to negotiate a touring schedule or if he just wants to record. This decision seems even more spur of the moment than the move to Dublin in lots of ways, but Niall’s more willing to take this a step at a time, do it as slowly as he needs to. There’s no rush now that he has a purpose.  
   
Collecting everything that he’s been working on the past couple of months turns out to be one of the biggest struggles for Niall. Somehow the writing’s not all condensed in his songwriting book like he thought, instead dispersing to random corners of his flat. He finds scraps of paper in drawers and on the bookshelf and even gets a call from Bressie one day asking if he should bring some of the work Niall’s left there to the studio.  
   
The first day before heading out, Niall texts the WhatsApp group, letting the boys know what he’s up to with  _first day in the studio ! so nervous hahaha might poo meself_.  
   
Liam predictably texts back first with three confetti emojis, Harry replying not long after with _good luck x_ and three aubergine emojis and the winky face which Niall decides not to acknowledge. Louis doesn’t answer until Niall’s nearly at the studio, and it’s with the poop emoji and the sparkly pink heart. Niall assumes it’s supposed to be in encouragement.  
   
Bressie’s there in the studio already when Niall walks in with his guitar. Niall feels younger all of a sudden, like he’s eighteen again, showing up at Bressie’s doorstep with a beaten up guitar and asking for help when all he really wants is something that reminds him of home. That much hasn’t changed at least - Bressie will always be the first he turns to when he’s missing home.  
   
“Haven’t been here in ages,” Niall says, looking around. Camden’s not changed much since Bressie’s opened it. The same equipment, same piano, same oriental rug that Bressie had been very proud of picking out himself. For all the recording he’s done, Niall hasn’t spent much time in actual studios. He’s more used to hotel rooms and recording booths made from mattresses and luxury pillows. The booth in front of Bressie is nearly intimidating.  
   
“Wish I could say the same,” Bressie says with a light laugh. “But I can’t complain about what we’re here for today.”  
   
Niall grins, setting down his guitar case and walking up to where Bressie’s sitting in front of the mixers. He sets a hand on Bressie’s shoulder, and looks at all the equipment in front of him a bit wistfully. “Is it just us today?”  
   
“Wasn’t sure what you wanted to start with,” Bressie says with a shrug. “Thought we could pick out which songs you wanted to do and then maybe start laying down the vocals. I assume you want to do the guitars yourself, yeah? We can hire others for the rest of the instrumentals.”  
   
Niall nods, squeezing Bressie’s shoulder. “I know which song I want to start with,” he admits with a sheepish smile.  
   
“Yeah? Which one?” Bressie asks, looking up with him. It’s strange, standing above Bressie, looking down at him.  
   
“That first one we did together? The one I called you about. Starting with that feels right.”  
   
Bressie nods in agreement, something soft in his expression. “Sounds perfect, Chief.”  
   
Niall pulls up a chair to where Bressie is, taking out his songwriting book as he settles. They go over the melody, tighten up the parts that Niall was still unsure of. There’s something stirring inside of Niall, something different from the angry buzzing. It’s more like a hum, something calm and gentle but still excited. He hasn’t felt it in a long time.  
   
“Think you’re ready for the booth?” Bressie asks when they’ve gone over everything enough times that Niall is starting to feel confident about what’s ahead of him.  
   
Niall swallows around the knot in his throat that always appears before a high-pressure performance, but he still nods, getting up with shaky legs. Bressie gives him an encouraging smile, and it’s the push that Niall needs to get him into the booth and up to the microphone that Bressie’s got ready and set up for him.  
   
“Ready when you are Niall,” Bressie says, pressing down on the mic that allows his voice to filter through the soundproof glass.  
   
Niall’s already starting to feel too warm and sticky. The booth isn’t small by any means, and for once it’s the openness that’s setting Niall on edge. Without thinking about it, he grabs at the collar of his shirt, lifting it above his head and dropping it down to the ground unceremoniously.  
   
Bressie’s staring at him with wide eyes from the other side of the glass, and Niall blushes all of a sudden, certain that the color goes down straight to his chest. “Um, I always record like this,” he sputters. “I swear. There’s like videos -”  
   
“Right, it’s fine,” Bressie says, trying to hide his laughter, “I just wasn’t expecting a strip show today, that’s all.”  
   
Niall blushes harder, flipping Bressie off before fitting the studio headphones over his ears. He’s not used to feeling exposed like this in front of Bressie who’s seen him stripped down and vulnerable in all senses, and he tries to shake it off, tries to ignore the way Bressie’s eyes track over him and his bare torso. At least he hadn’t taken his jeans off also.  
   
When he’s ready, Niall sends Bressie a thumbs up and gets one in return. He jumps into the first verse, the soft, slow melody that’s become as familiar to him as any song he’s sung a thousand times on stage. It’s just Niall and his voice, raw and stripped down in a big empty booth, and Niall feels the weight of that on his chest, in his heart. The weight isn’t suffocating, though, it’s comforting, like the presence of a blanket on a cold night. Niall closes his eyes, and he sings.  
   
\--  
   
Recording is easier than Niall expects it to be, though maybe he shouldn’t be too surprised at this. It’s a familiar process, one he’s gone through over and over again. Things are different, of course, he can’t deny that. Hearing Bressie’s voice pushing him through verses and choruses is a shock at first, because sometimes when it’s just him in the booth, Niall feels like he’s somewhere else, a hotel room or the back of the bus or another studio in London. It’s easy to lose himself and there are days he’s surprised that it’s not Julian or John stopping him, pushing him through difficult melodies, and encouraging him to experiment and reach his limits.  
   
Working with Bressie ends up meaning late nights together. It means Bressie making him tea when his voice is shot. It means sitting side by side, hands brushing and knees bumping as they audition the right studio musicians together. It means arguments over sound and Niall’s frustration when he can’t express what he wants the same way that Louis and Liam always used to have a knack for.  
   
By the third or fourth day, Bressie stops looking surprised when Niall takes his shirt off in the booth, but Niall never stops feeling warm and pleased when Bressie’s eyes rake over him before they get to work. There are days where Niall _wants_ Bressie to do more than look, he wants to feel Bressie’s hands on his hips, tracing over his skin. They’re always so close, but never close enough, and Niall’s beginning to hate all the boundaries that he’s set up himself.  
   
Recording also means that Niall suddenly has a lot less free time than he did before. The flat becomes a tip alarmingly quickly, and spends one of his days at home just cleaning and tidying, a sense of calm settling over him at the menial nature of the work. He also calls Bobby, talking to him and Theo for nearly an hour before he gets a call on the other line.  
   
“Da, I’ve got a call, yeah? I’ll talk to you soon. Give Theo my love,” Niall says, switching to the other call before Bobby can hold him up too much longer. “Hello?”  
   
“What are you up to tonight, popstar?” Eoghan asks in greeting.  
   
“An exciting night of sitting on the couch,” Niall says flatly, gathering the dishes he’s neglected to put away the past week.  
   
“Come over for dinner tonight then,” Eoghan suggests. “Laura and Bressie are coming. We’re having a proper Sunday roast.”  
   
“It’s Friday,” Niall says with a laugh, setting the phone to speaker so he can properly work in the kitchen.  
   
“Time is a social construct, Horan. Bring beer.”  
   
Eoghan hangs up without waiting for Niall to answer, and Niall just rolls his eyes. A night at Eoghan’s doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea, and it’s not like he had anything else planned anyway. There’s no reason not to go.  
   
\--  
   
A few hours later, after the sun has finally set, Niall finds himself knocking on Eoghan’s door, a couple cases of beer at his feet. Laura’s the one who opens the door, immediately tugging Niall into a hug with her long arms.  
   
“How are you doing, love?” she asks after planting a kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a tacky imprint of lipstick that he doesn’t make too much effort to wipe away.  
   
“Doing alright for myself,” Niall says honestly. “How are you? Feel like I barely see ye.”  
   
“Oh, you know me, always busy with something,” Laura says flippantly, grabbing one of the cases before leading Niall into Eoghan’s. “Glad to find some time with you all now, though.”  
   
“It smells great in here,” Niall says, taking in a deep breath, letting the scents from the kitchen fill his nose. It gets stronger the farther they walk into the house, Niall’s mouth watering and his stomach grumbling.  
   
“I know, I was quite surprised. Thought the two idiots in the kitchen would muck things up for sure,” Laura says with a giggle.  
   
“Watch your mouth,” Eoghan calls from he’s stood at the stove, turning around briefly to glare at Laura. “Or I’ll send you to your room without supper.”  
   
Laura laughs harder, landing a smacking kiss to Eoghan’s cheek after placing the beer into the fridge. “Sorry, mum.”  
   
“You should be sorry. Here I am, slaving over a hot stove all day -”  
   
“You’ve barely done anything but cut vegetables all day, McDermott. Shut your mouth,” Bressie says, coming into the kitchen from farther into the house.  
   
“No one in this family respects me,” Eoghan mumbles, under his breath.  
   
Bressie ignores him, hugging Niall instead, holding him tight like it hasn’t only been a couple days since they last saw each other. Niall welcomes it, though, not complaining when Bressie’s arm stays around his waist, a hand firmly placed on his hip when he pulls away.  
   
“Tell me about this album you two are working on,” Laura says, perching herself on the counter and looking between Niall and Bressie excitedly. “I’ve been absolutely dying to hear it.”  
   
“Not really much of an album, yet,” Niall says with a shrug. “Just recording a few songs here and there. Though I suppose it’ll come together into something eventually.”  
   
“I would hope so, or else why am I wasting all my time with you when I could be doing actual work?” Bressie teases, fingers digging into Niall’s ribs and making him giggle loudly in surprise.  
   
“Clearly just to see my pretty face,” Niall says, catching Bressie’s hand this time before he starts to tickle him again.  
   
Laura rolls her eyes at the two of them, asking more about their work before they can take this nonsense any farther. Niall keeps his hand atop of Bressie’s while they talk, glad that Bressie makes no effort to move it.  
   
The kitchen is rather cramped with the four of them occupying it, but Niall doesn’t mind. He likes that they’re finally all here together in one place. It’s a different sort of feeling than when he meets up with Liam or Louis or Harry. Being here makes it seem as if no time has passed at all. Falling into old patterns and habits is much easier. Eoghan and Laura still bicker playfully, Laura always winning when Bressie and Niall inevitably take her side. Bressie’s still warm and solid beside Niall, never more than a few feet away, and always gravitating back towards him like they’re opposite ends of a magnet.  
   
Eoghan ends up shooing Laura and Niall out of the kitchen when everything’s nearly done, shoving plates and silverware into their hands and insisting that they go set the table. “You’re distracting your mum and da. Go.”  
   
“So,” Laura says when they’re alone in the dining area, dragging out the word as long as she can. They’re far enough away that Bressie and Eoghan probably can’t hear them, but not far enough that the muffled sounds of them arguing in the kitchen don’t filter into the room.  
   
“So what?” asks Niall, confused.  
   
Laura’s just staring at him, arms crossed and one corner of her mouth turned up in a smirk while Niall starts to set out the placemats. It’s beginning to unnerve him.  
   
“What?” Niall asks again, pausing his work.  
   
“You and Bressie,” she replies slowly.  
   
Niall’s stomach gives a little twist, and he feels incredibly dumb. He should’ve expected this. “What about me and Bressie?” he asks. There’s no harm in wanting to prolong any conversation on this topic.  
   
Laura shakes her head, more fond than exasperated, grabbing the plates that Niall’s picked up out of his hand. “You and Bressie. Working together. Late nights. Small quarters. How has that been for you, then?”  
   
“It’s been fine,” Niall says with a shrug, grabbing the plates back and starting to set them around the table. “We work well together. It’s been fun. Easy.”  
   
“And have you been, y’know?” Laura asks, smirk growing.  
   
Niall’s face heats up considerably. “Have we been what?”  
   
Laura makes a crude hand gesture and Niall laughs out of surprise, hands automatically coming up to cover his eyes. “No. No we haven’t been doing that.”  
   
“Boring,” Laura says with a sigh. She picks up the silverware, finally starting to help Niall setup. “Do you want to?”  
   
Niall pauses where he’s started setting out the glasses. He can see his reflection in the clear glass, the uncertainty in his face clear despite the distortion of the image. “I, um, I dunno, really.”  
   
“How do you not know if you want to shag someone?” Laura asks, hands on her hips. She brandishes the fork in her hand towards Niall threateningly. “This is not a difficult question, Niall.”  
   
Niall takes a step back from Laura instinctively, crossing his arms around his chest. Laura’s looking at him with her eyebrows furrowed, mouth drawn in a frown. She’s expecting an answer, one that Niall doesn’t really know how to give.  
   
“I don’t know if we should,” Niall finally admits when he can’t take the weight of Laura’s stare any longer. “It hasn’t really worked out in the past, has it? At least not in the way I’ve wanted.”  
   
Laura’s face softens. She places the fork down carefully, enveloping Niall in a hug afterward. “Maybe things could be different this time, love. You could do this the way you’ve always wanted to.”  
   
“But what if that’s not what he wants?” Niall asks quietly.  
   
“Trust me, it is. With him, it’s always been you.”  
   
Laura gives him a final squeeze, the heavy weight of her words hitting Niall straight in the chest and knocking him breathless. It’s a bit too much for him to handle at once and Laura doesn’t say anything while he takes a second to breathe.  
   
Despite the certainty in Laura’s voice, what she says is hard for Niall to believe. It seems almost abstract, like those philosophical concepts Zayn would spew out after a few hits of a blunt on a homesick night. Niall’s mind is just as clouded now as it had been during those times, even without the burning smoke in his lungs.  
   
Laura comes up, grabbing Niall’s wrist where his hand is clenched around the same glass he had been setting earlier. “You don’t believe me,” she says with a smile, as if she’s reading his mind.  
   
All Niall can do is shake his head.  
   
“You will,” Laura says with the same kind of certainty as before. “Maybe not right away. But soon.”  
   
And that’s what she leaves him with, gathering up the rest of the glasses and finishing the job Niall started.  
   
\--  
   
Niall pushes back any thoughts he has about Laura’s words when Bressie and Eoghan start bringing in dishes from the kitchen, and after a few drinks, they’ve all but disappeared completely. Niall’s never been a huge fan of wine, but he doesn’t stop Eoghan from refilling his glass throughout dinner, mostly because it makes it easier to sit next to Bressie, their elbows brushing too often for it to completely be by accident.  
   
Niall’s more than a bit tipsy by the time they clear the table and move into the living room. His belly is warm with good food and good drinks and he’s starting to get to that happy, cuddly kind of drunk that comes with good company. He has no problem cuddling up next to Bressie on the couch, fitting under his arm easily and laying his head on his chest. Bressie indulges him, rubbing his shoulder and playing with the hair on the back of his neck that’s getting long and starting to curl.  
   
They argue for a bit on whether or not to watch a film, but it’s cut short by Laura’s quiet snores where she’s fallen asleep, curled up on the chair she’s claimed hers for the night.  
   
“Well, no film then,” Eoghan says with a laugh. “And I suppose I have to make a bed up for Laura as well. You two staying also?”  
   
Bressie shakes his head, and Niall goes to do the same but stops when it starts to make his vision swim.  
   
“Um, I’m probably not fit to drive,” he giggles, heel of his hand pressing against his temple.  
   
“That’s okay, plenty of room for everyone,” Eoghan says, getting up and stretching. “Okay, I’ll get Blonde One up then. Bressie you can deal with Blond Two.”  
   
“Why am I Blond Two?” Niall asks with a pout. “‘M not even that blond anymore. Finally trying to let it grow out a bit.”  
   
“C’mon, up you get, Little,” Bressie says, ignoring Niall’s question and tugging him up off the couch.  
   
Bressie doesn’t complain about Niall leaning on him during the short walk to where the guest rooms are. He keeps an arm firm around Niall’s waist, keeping him from tripping and stumbling too much and laughing while Niall starts to ramble about how if Bressie and Eoghan are the mum and dad, it’s a bit strange that they have two blond children.  
   
Niall collapses onto the bed as soon as they’re into the room, letting his legs dangle off the edge of the mattress. His fingers are clumsy as he fumbles with the button of his shirt, and it probably doesn’t help that he’s lying on his back, the angle weird and awkward for undressing purposes.  
   
“You’re a mess,” Bressie says fondly, walking over to where Niall is. He easily lifts Niall so he’s sitting up, undoing the last few buttons of his shirt with much more ease than Niall.  
Niall holds his breath, remembering traces of Bressie doing the same thing so many times before. Bressie wasn’t always as careful then as he is now, usually more frantic, sometimes ripping buttons off before pushing the shirt off Niall’s shoulders. This time he stops, though, once he gets to the last button, hovering for just a second.  
   
Bressie’s close enough to kiss, and Niall’s expecting it, waiting for it. He wants Bressie’s hands on his exposed chest, wants him to push Niall’s shirt the rest of the way off and press him into the mattress. All Niall can think through the fog of alcohol in his head is _please touch, please please please._  
   
Without thinking about it, Niall lays his hands on top of Bressie’s where they’re still lying hesitantly at the hem of his shirt, and he tilts his head up slightly, wanting to close the gap. He’s met not with lips, though, but the brush of Bressie’s stubble against his mouth, and Bressie wrapping one of his large hands around his wrist.  
   
The disappointment and embarrassment cuts through Niall sharp and clear in a way that’s nearly sobering. He swallows thickly, feels the heat of shame in his face, sure that a blush is creeping down his neck and chest.  
   
“Fuck, I’m sorry -” He remembers Laura’s words, wonders how he’ll ever believe them now.  
   
“Chief, you’re drunk,” Bressie says sadly. His expression is trained, almost blank. “You don’t want this right now.”  
   
Niall wants to protest that he does, that he doesn’t want anything more, that he’s never wanted anything more. Instead he forces out a smile and shakes his head. “Yeah, right.”  
   
Bressie looks like he’s going to say something, but stops himself. Instead, he runs his thumb over the thin skin of Niall’s wrist for a second before dropping it from his grasp. When he does speak, he asks, “Think you can take care of yourself from here?”  
   
Niall nods. He doesn’t feel too drunk anymore. “Yeah. Thanks for making sure I’m okay.”  
   
Bressie squeezes Niall’s leg a bit awkwardly, hesitating again for a second that stretches out too long before heading out the door.  
   
\--  
   
The next morning, Niall’s woken up much too early by the sound of his phone ringing. His head is pounding, his body aching, and his stomach rolling uncomfortably. There’s a glass of water and a couple of paracetamol lying on the bedside table, and he downs them both, sighing in relief when the shrill ringing of his phone stops.  
   
It starts up again almost immediately, and Niall groans. His phone is still in the pocket of his jeans which are lying in a pile by the foot of the bed and moving seems like too much effort at the moment. He gets up anyway, though, figuring it’s probably important if someone’s calling this early, and after stumbling and digging around in his pockets, he answers with a groggy, “‘Lo?” right before the ringer’s about to cut off.  
   
Niall’s surprised to hear Louis’s voice come through the receiver, crisp and clear, sounding like he’s been awake for hours already. “Morning, lad. You sound like shit, did you know?”  
   
“Had a bit to drink last night,” Niall mumbles grumpily. “Do you have any idea what time it is, Lou?” He stumbles back to the bed. The room is chilly this early in the morning, and Niall immediately snuggles back under the covers, pulling them up to his chin.  
   
“No,” Louis replies, pausing for a second before continuing with a, “oh, shit. Sorry, Niall. I’m running on dad time still. And X-Factor time. Which is pretty much the same thing these days.”  
   
“Well, I’m up now, what is it?” Niall asks with a heavy sigh. His head is pounding still, but it’s getting more bearable as he begins to feel more awake.  
   
“You have room for the Tommo up in that fancy flat in Dublin? Was thinking I’d come by for a few days while I have some time in between filming.”  
   
“Oh,” Niall says, surprised.  
   
Niall’s hardly talked to Louis since the night at the pub. For once, Louis hasn’t been around as a rock, a foundation for Niall to put his trust in. The few times they have spoken haven’t been cold, but there’s been a degree of distance that Niall isn’t used to. Niall knows how closely Louis holds onto his pride, how he’s let it ruin relationships in the past, and something in him swells knowing that Louis’s reached out to him first.  
   
Louis makes an impatient noise on the other end of the line, and Niall quickly says, “Yeah, mate, of course. You’re always welcome, you know that.”  
   
“Sick,” Louis says, voice soft and colored with relief. “Glad you say that because I’ve already booked my tickets for next week.”  
   
Niall laughs. “Of course you did. Any particular reason you want to come up for? Or just to see me and my pretty face?”  
   
“Could use a break, honestly,” Louis says, sounding a bit tired for the first time. “Liam says you’ve been working on stuff? We could, like, write together maybe? If you’d be okay with that? It’s been ages since I’ve gotten to. I’d kill for a night that’s just me, you, a notebook, and a fat blunt.”  
   
“That sounds great, Lou,” Niall says, soft and honest. “I’d be up for anything. Can’t wait to see you. Miss you.”  
   
“Miss you too, lad. Go back to sleep, I’ll see you soon.”  
   
\--  
   
Niall does drift off after hanging up. He sleeps fitfully, and when he wakes it feels like he’d only been asleep for a few minutes instead of a few hours. It’s past noon, and Niall feels groggier as he lies in bed a few extra minutes than he did during his conversation with Louis. At the very least his headache’s gone, but it’s really only a small bit of relief.  
   
Now that it’s just Niall and his thoughts, without the distraction of surprise phone calls and terrible hangovers, memories from the night before start to come back to Niall in bits and pieces. His stomach clenches thinking about his conversation with Laura in the dining room, and he feels sick again when he remembers him and Bressie here in this room. The embarrassment floods back into him quickly, and he groans, throwing his arm over his eyes and breathing deeply for a moment.  
   
He takes a few more seconds to stew in his self-pity before rolling himself out of bed. Eoghan’s room is right across the hall from his and he slips in, finding it thankfully empty. He grabs a clean shirt and a pair of joggers before heading into the bathroom, and it’s not until he’s showered and cleaned his teeth that he feels properly ready to deal with whatever may come with the rest of the day.  
   
Eoghan’s sitting at the table already when Niall finally gets there, a large pile of toast in front of him as well as two mugs of strong-smelling coffee. His hair’s sticking up in every direction, clothes rumpled, but he still looks much better than Niall felt when he first got up during Louis’s call.  
   
“Feeling alright?” Eoghan asks, not looking up from where he’s staring at the screen of his phone.  
   
“Better than I did earlier this morning,” Niall replies. “Laura already gone?”  
   
Eoghan nods. “She had filming today for some TV special.”  
   
Niall’s grabbing for a slice of toast, slathering it in a generous amount of the jam Eoghan’s set out, when Eoghan finally puts his phone down. He watches Niall almost curiously, making the hair on Niall’s neck feel prickly.  
   
“What?” Niall blurts out when Eoghan still hasn’t said anything. He wasn’t expecting a stare-down at breakfast.  
   
“Did something happen last night? With you and Bressie?” he asks. “He looked a bit out of sorts after helping you to bed. Wouldn’t say anything, of course, when I asked, though.”  
   
Niall avoids eye contact when he shrugs, grabbing at another piece of toast even though he’s barely finished his first. For a lack of anything else to do with his hands, he begins to spread jam on that one as well. “Um, sort of,” he finally answers.  
   
“Sort of?” Eoghan says flatly. “What does sort of mean?”  
   
“Like I tried to kiss him sort of,” Niall mumbles. His hand is shaking and he puts down his butter knife a bit roughly, wincing at the sound of metal against the ceramic plate in front of him. “I tried to kiss him and then I felt like a total _tit_ because he pushed me away and -”  
   
“You were drunk,” Eoghan says interrupting him. “You were drunk and you said you didn’t want that anymore.”  
   
“I know,” Niall snaps. Eoghan looks perfectly neutral when Niall looks up at him. “I know,” he repeats more quietly. “I’m just - confused. I don’t know what I want. I never know what I want.”  
   
“Whatever it ends up being, you know Bressie will give you that. He always does. Just don’t mess about, Niall. You two are never straight with each other the way you should be.”  
   
Niall nods, pushing away the plate in front of him. He’s not very hungry anymore.  
   
Niall’s always wondered what him and Bressie could’ve had, where they could’ve been, if they met a little later, or if Niall was a little older. Maybe they never would’ve fallen into this pattern of coming together at the wrong time, of feeling like they had no choice but to sneak away for a shag when they need someone. They could’ve had something solid, something real and stable. Something like what Niall’s always wanted for them.  
   
“Do me a favor and talk to each other, will you?” Eoghan says warily. “Even if you don’t know what you want yet. Just talk. I’m tired of the both of you pretending like you’re okay with what you have when you both obviously want more.”  
   
Niall’s not sure if he’s ready to promise anyone anything, but he supposes this is something he can’t avoid, no matter how badly he wants to.  
   
\--  
   
Niall goes back to his place after finishing up with breakfast and falls immediately back to sleep. For once, he dreams of nothing. It’s one of the best sleeps he’s had in a long time, and he barely feels groggy even though he wakes up near dusk to the setting sun filtering in pretty pink and orange light through the open blinds in his room.  
   
His phone’s long past dead and he plugs it into the charger next to his bed while he sets off to the kitchen to find himself something for dinner. Niall’s not particularly in the mood to make anything, but there are some leftovers in the fridge and he reheats them, taking them back up to his room. By the time he gets there, his phone’s rebooted. He’s got a few text messages from Bobby, a few pictures of Theo from Greg, and a picture of a fire hydrant from Harry.  
   
There’s nothing from Bressie and Niall’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed. They have a studio day scheduled in a couple days, so he knows that even if they don’t talk now, they’ll have to do it soon. Niall feels surprisingly okay about the whole thing, no twisting in his gut or buzzing underneath his skin. He’s sure that will change soon, that it’s probably the calm before a storm, but for now he’s grateful for a day without irritation.  
   
Niall barely makes it through his dinner before he’s back asleep.  
   
\--  
   
Niall has dreams sometimes about being on stage. They’re different nearly every time.  
   
Sometimes the boys are there and it feels more like a memory. Harry comes in front of him to do the Jagger while Louis and Liam throw water at each other, laughing when Niall mutters angrily about getting electrocuted. Zayn’s not always there, but when he is he’s always smiling, laughing, poking at Niall’s nipples and his belly button before disappearing backstage and not coming back.  
   
Sometimes Niall’s by himself. He looks into a sea of faces and grins, the feel of adrenaline running through his veins so strong that it almost seems real. And then sometimes it’s just him in an empty arena, the words to his songs getting stuck in his throat and his fingers losing the muscle memory he’s developed over the years and freezing over his guitar strings. Usually, he wakes from those dreams in a cold sweat, restless and agitated, the sick creep of fear and anxiety still lingering in his chest.  
   
It’s early in the morning when Niall wakes, the morning light still gray and lifeless. He’s startled out of sleep by pounding at the door, and he lies in bed for a few minutes, letting it continue because the effort of getting himself up and to the other side of the flat seems daunting at the moment.  
   
There’s a voice on the other side of the door that Niall doesn’t notice until it gets closer, and Niall’s more than confused when he realizes it’s Louis sharply calling, “Open the damn door, Niall, I know you’re in there.”  
   
“What the fuck?” Niall mutters to himself, opening the door and wondering if this is still part of some dream.  
   
“Really took your time there, didn’t you, Neil?” Louis asks when the door’s open, and Niall barely has time to respond before he’s being pulled into a hug. Louis’s solid and warm and very much real. Niall instinctively buries his nose against his shoulder for a second, before pulling back in confusion.  
   
“You’re not supposed to be here for another week,” Niall says.  
   
“Couldn’t wait to see you,” Louis says simply, pushing past Niall and into his flat. “So this is your fancy Dublin place, is it?”  
   
“Not really that fancy,” Niall mumbles. “But it’s home now.”  
   
“That’s what you were looking for, right? Home?” Louis asks. He says it to himself, like he’s not really looking for an answer, but it hits Niall in the chest either way, makes his lungs tighten for a second until he can get a breath out.  
   
Louis looks around Niall’s living room for a while, studies the awards Niall has on the shelves and the pictures on the walls before turning to Niall himself and studying him as well.  
   
“You look knackered, lad,” Louis says, voice concerned.  
   
“Didn’t sleep much last night, and then some arse woke me up banging on the door at six in the morning,” Niall says with a smile that’s small but genuine. Being around Louis usually has a way of putting him at ease even if everything seems ready to fall apart.  
   
Louis attempts to twist Niall’s nipple in return, but Niall catches his hand with practiced ease, not minding when Louis just lets it sit in Niall’s hand limply instead. “Well, we should get you back in bed then. Could fancy a kip meself. Had quite the long journey, you know.”  
   
Niall laughs, and this time he’s the one pulling Louis into a hug, whispering, “Missed you a lot, Lou,” while Louis tucks his face into Niall’s neck.  
   
Louis sags against him and squeezes back tightly and wordlessly, before pulling Niall farther into the flat like Niall’s the guest and he’s the host.  
   
Louis ends up walking past the guest room that Niall had set up for him, collapsing into Niall’s bed instead, insisting that he likes a cuddle after a long flight. Niall rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest, still too exhausted from his fitful sleep to argue. It’s somehow easier to sleep with another body in his bed, and Niall’s thankful for Louis’s soft snores and the heavy weight of his arm around his waist while he finally drifts into a more comfortable sleep.  
   
When Niall wakes up again, the sun is much higher in the sky, the light outside bright and yellow. Louis’s already awake, scrolling through his phone and seemingly unconcerned about the fact that Niall’s octopused himself around him like he tends to do with whoever he’s sleeping with.  
   
“Morning,” Niall says, voice low and husky with sleep. Louis hums in reply, scritching his fingers against Niall’s scalp in a way that almost puts him back to sleep.  
   
“Want to tell me why it is you haven’t been sleeping?” Louis asks after a bit, putting his phone down after clicking on the lockscreen.  
   
Niall’s unsurprised, knew that Louis would be asking about it as soon as he mentioned it, but he still avoids eye contact, burying his face in Louis’s shoulder instead. Louis doesn’t push, his hand warm against Niall’s back, waiting for an answer.  
   
“I’ve been sleeping,” Niall finally says. “Just some trouble the last couple of nights, I suppose. Had some things on my mind.”  
   
“Like?”  
   
Niall sighs, answering, “Like the fact that I nearly kissed Bressie a few nights back and that I’ve been freaking out like a total tit since then.”  
   
Louis pulls back in surprise, hand stilling against Niall’s back. “Well then. Not really the answer I was expecting there.”  
   
Niall lets out a weak giggle, burying his face his Louis’s shoulder afterwards. He breathes deeply for a few seconds, and Louis lets him settle before asking, “What happened?”  
   
There’s a loose thread coming off of Louis’s shirt, and Niall pulls at it for a bit before saying, “We all went over to Eoghan’s for a bit. It was nice. We haven’t all kicked back like that in a while. But, um, Laura said some stuff about Bressie and like how he felt about me and I just, dunno, panicked I guess,” Niall starts to explain with a frown. Louis squeezes his waist in encouragement, silently urging him to continue so Niall does, saying, “Had a bit to drink so I stayed at Eoghan’s that night. Bressie was helping me into bed and then I tried to kiss him like an idiot. He pushed me away, told me we shouldn’t. I haven’t talked to him since.”  
   
It all sounds rather anticlimactic now that Niall says it out loud, and he supposes that in the grand scheme of things, it is. What’s a near-kiss when they’ve exchanged hundreds before this? What’s one small rejection when Niall knows that they’ve fucked and fought and cried and laughed and loved? It seems silly to freak out over.  
   
“Do you want that again? To be with Bressie like before?” Louis asks quietly.  
   
Niall lets out a rather harsh laugh without really thinking about it. “Like before? Fuck, no. I don’t want to just fool around anymore. It’s why I told him I wanted to take things slowly this time in the first place.”  
   
“Do you think that maybe that’s what Bressie might want too? He’s never seemed like the hook up kind to me. More of a relationship man, isn’t he? More like Payno.”  
   
“Dunno, that’s sort of what Laura said too,” Niall admits, biting his lip, “But like before, the timing was never right for us and we knew that. Couldn’t do things proper like when we were both busy with other things,” he continues, shrugging the best he can.  
   
He knows that Louis’s right. That out of the two of them, Bressie’s definitely the relationship type. It’s not the first time Niall’s wondered why he was the one Bressie made an exception for, especially for so long. He remembers Niall’s words, the sentiment that for Bressie, it’s always been Niall, and just like before it’s hard to believe, hard to take in. He draws in a breath, deep and shaky.  
   
Louis’s tracing gentle patterns over Niall’s back. It’s soothing, easy to sink into, helps Niall to relax and keep his breaths more steady and calm. When Niall finally looks up at him, he sees that Louis is thinking, eyebrows furrowed. His face softens though when he sees Niall staring, into that expression that always made Niall a bit warm and giggly when they were younger and he was more desperate for Louis’s attention and approval.  
   
“Maybe it’s your time now, Niall. You’re both here in Dublin, settled down and everything. Maybe this is your chance to give it a shot,” he says.  
   
Niall doesn’t reply, instead turning over onto his back and staring at the ceiling. Louis’s hand comes up to rest on the back of his neck, a subtle reminder that he’s still there while Niall thinks things over.  
   
His heart isn’t pumping and his breathing is fine, but there’s a bundle of nerves in his belly, all tangled up in a mess like the chords running over and around the stage during a show. It all seems like too much at one time and Niall knows that he has to take this slowly, that this isn’t one of those things that he can jump into without thinking.  
   
“I have to talk to him don’t I?” Niall asks, a bit resigned. He knows the answer already, there’s no denying it after what Eoghan said, what Laura said and Louis repeated.  
   
“Would probably help,” Louis agrees with a small laugh. “But that can wait for a bit, yeah? I know you’ll want some time to think about it and I’m starving and could go for a fry-up, if you’re up for it.”  
   
Niall manages a smile and nods, appreciating the way Louis squeezes his neck in reassurance before he rolls out of bed to start the day.  
   
\--  
   
The days with Louis pass easily, the two of them spending most of their time in Niall’s flat. They don’t do as much songwriting as Niall thought they would, instead passing their time with FIFA tournaments and going through Niall’s Netflix queue. Niall doesn’t mind that they’re not doing much, Louis keeps his mind occupied and it’s nice having someone else’s constant presence in the house, someone he knows how to work around, someone he knows how to live with.  
   
Bressie doesn't call at all. Doesn't text. Niall’s a bit relieved if he's being honest, and he doesn't try to make any contact either. Niall knows that Louis's right, that Eoghan's right, but it's also easier for him to push it all back until him and Bressie see each other next. At least then he can tell himself it'll be better if they do it in person.  
   
“You’re not skiving off your judging duties are you?” Niall asks warily on Saturday night when Louis’s still there, feet up on the coffee table even after Niall told him a billion times to take them off. “Am I gonna read in the papers tomorrow about how hot new judge Louis Tomlinson mysteriously didn’t show up for filming?”  
   
Louis laughs loudly, shaking his head. “Me avoiding responsibilities? Never.”  
   
Niall gives him a sharp look, flicking a noodle off his plate, laughing when it hits Louis in the face, sticking to his cheek. Louis glares, getting in a twist at Niall’s nipples because he’s too busy laughing to stop him.  
   
“There are some network issues going on, if you must know,” Louis mutters, the annoyance in his voice betrayed by the smile tugging at his lips. “Absolutely nothing to do with me, thank you very much.”  
   
“Is everything going to be okay?” Niall asks. “They wouldn’t just cancel in the middle of the series, would they?”  
   
Louis shrugs, looking just as tired as he did when he first arrived. “Dunno. Probably not. But that’s none of your concern, Niall. You have enough on your plate to worry about.”  
   
It’s clearly a dismissal, and Niall allows it for now, deciding there’s time to talk to Louis about it later when he’s ready. Niall understands the need for an escape, the need for compartmentalizing more than anyone. He’s not going to push Louis if he doesn’t want to talk.  
   
Time passes too quickly for Niall’s liking, though, the day Niall has to go into the studio creeping up on him until he’s waking up one morning, restless and agitated.  
   
“Nervous?” Louis asks sympathetically over breakfast.  
   
Niall’s only eaten half a piece of plain toast, hasn’t even touched his tea because his stomach is tied up in tight knots. He shrugs. “I suppose.”  
   
“It’ll be okay,” Louis says softly. “Whatever you want, Bressie probably wants it too.”  
   
Niall smiles weakly, and asks, “Are you going to come with?”  
   
“I’ll drop by,” Louis assures him. “I have a bit of work to do. X-Factor people to talk to and such. But I should be done while you’re still recording.”  
   
Niall nods with a small smile. It helps knowing that Louis will be there eventually. He thinks about the games they used to play on stage, Louis’s bright smile as he mouthed, “You’ve got my back, and I’ve got yours.” Niall’s glad that it still holds true.  
   
\--  
   
They’re working today with the studio musicians Niall and Bressie picked out a couple weeks ago after a grueling day of listening to auditions. Niall’s happy with the band, thinks that they’re extremely talented and that he’ll have fun working them. He misses the old band sometimes, still texts Josh or tweets at Sandy when there’s a footie match on that they would’ve watched together. He knows it won’t be the same as that instant chemistry he had with all of them, but he’s hoping for the best.  
   
Niall heads out on his own, and gets there early, already thrumming with nervous energy, heart beating fast like the wings of a hummingbird. He’s not at all ready to see Bressie, he’s not even sure what to say to him, and the calm he’d settled into with Louis disappears quickly.  
   
Despite leaving earlier than usual, Niall’s not the first one in. He hears the soft, steady rhythm of a drum set before he even gets through to the studio space, and he manages a small smile at the sound. Niall pushes open the door quietly, leaning against the frame and watching.  
   
Their drummer is a girl named Bree, just a couple years younger than Niall. She’s got more skill than Niall has seen in a long time, and Niall had known the moment she sat down to play that she had to be the one for this. Niall loves the way her hands move across the drum set, fast and capable, and he feels mesmerized while he watches.  
   
Bree startles when she finally looks up from the set, her mouth turning into a small “oh” of surprise and her drumstick flying out of her hand and behind her. “Shit, sorry, didn’t realize anyone was here yet,” she says with a sheepish smile.  
   
“It’s alright. That was sick. Love watching you play,” Niall says with a bright smile that he hopes is calming.  
   
Bree blushes a little, rubbing the back of her neck. “Wow, thanks. Still can’t believe I’m here, if I’m being honest. It all seems like a dream.”  
   
“Trust me, you wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you were the only one perfect for the job,” Niall assures her. He walks back behind the drum set, picking up her drumstick and handing it back to her.  
   
She takes it with trembling fingers, but her smile seems more relaxed. “Any reason you’re here so early? Didn’t expect anyone for another half an hour or so, which is why I came to work off that nervous energy.”  
   
Niall smiles sheepishly. “Bit of the same reason. Um, had some stuff I needed to talk to Brez about, but I guess I’ve been working myself up about it.”  
   
“Ah, yes, the ever-elusive _stuff_ ,” Bree says with a laugh, her smile sharper, teasing. “I’d be nervous about talking about stuff as well.”  
   
Niall can’t help but laugh, already feeling the nerves dancing in his belly quell a little. “I’m not really the best at talking about anything, really. Stuff in particularly really gets to me. But hopefully it’ll all be okay.”  
   
“It will be,” Bree says with certainty. “I don’t know what you two are, and like obviously it’s none of my business, but whether it’s just friends or whatever, it’s obvious you work well together. Even I could see that.”  
   
Niall blushes a bit, but it’s still a comfort, hearing this. There’s something about Bree that’s really genuine and sincere, and it’s probably why Niall was so drawn to her in the first place. He’s always been proud of being a good judge of character, and it’s nice to see that that hasn’t changed.  
   
Instead of replying, Niall walks over to where his guitar’s set up on a stand, already tuned and waiting for him. He picks it up, sits down on a stool he pulls closer to Bree’s kit and says, “Thought you had some nerves to work out?”  
   
Bree grins brightly and nods, counting down from three and starting up a steady rhythm on her drums.  
   
\--  
   
They don’t play as long as Niall anticipates, cutting short when Bree starts asking about his music and recording and what it’s like being an actual touring musician. She’s surprisingly easy to talk to, and Niall gets a bit lost, sitting with his guitar on his lap and reminiscing a bit wistfully about what it was like when they first started.  
   
Niall’s in the middle of a story about their first TV performance when the door to the studio opens again, Bressie coming inside and stopping short when he realizes that it’s already occupied. His nose is pink from the wind outside, and he’s wrapped up and looking soft and warm in a scarf and thick jumper under his coat.  
   
“Oh, uh, hi, Chief,” Bressie says a bit awkwardly. “Didn’t expect anyone here so early.”  
   
“Seems to be the running theme here today,” Bree says, and Bressie startles like he didn’t notice that she was in the room.  
   
“Bree,” he says in surprise, and Niall manages a small giggle. “Hi, you’re also -”  
   
“Here early, yes,” Bree says with a teasingly smile. She looks between Niall and Bressie a couple times, and Niall’s sure that the tension between them isn’t just in his head, that she must also feel how it hangs thick and heavy in the air at that moment. Finally, she pats Niall’s knee, getting up out of her seat. “I’ve got to make a quick phone call. I want to hear the rest of that story later, though, yeah?”  
   
Niall smiles a bit weakly as she leaves, obviously giving him the time alone with Bressie that he needs. His heart is beating rabbit-quick when he looks at Bressie, who’s still just standing there like he’s not sure of what to do next.  
   
They speak at the same time, Niall saying, “Brez,” just as Bressie sighs, “Niall,” and it makes them both laugh, the tension breaking a little.  
   
“I’m sorry,” Niall starts, before Bressie can say anything else. He looks down at his lap at the polished wood of his guitar, running his fingers down the metal strings just so he can have the familiar feel of them against his skin. “I shouldn’t have tried to do anything. I’m the one that said we needed time. That was real shit of me.”  
   
“Staying behind the line has been a lot harder than I thought it would,” Bressie says with a tight-lipped smile. He still hasn’t moved from the door, and he feels much farther away than a few feet. Niall wishes he was so much closer, but also wonders if that’s something he’s allowed to want right now.  
   
“It’s been hard for me too,” Niall admits, looking up to meet Bressie’s eyes. “I keep saying I don’t know what I want, but that’s not really true. I want this. Want us. But I also want to do it right this time.”  
   
Bressie nods and Niall relaxes, releasing tension in his shoulders that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, when he moves farther into the studio and takes the seat that Bree had been occupying.  
   
“We can definitely do this right,” Bressie says. He takes Niall’s guitar from his hands and lays it gently on the ground. There’s nothing between them now but a few inches of space, and Bressie bridges that too by taking Niall’s hand. “I’m ready to do whatever we need to.”  
   
Niall grins, his heart giving a flutter when Bressie kisses his knuckles sweetly. It’s a small gesture when considering all they’ve done, all they’ve been through, but it’s enough for now to make Niall feel like he’s flying.  
   
\--  
   
The rest of the musicians filter in slowly but surely. Niall and Bressie auditioned what felt like thousands of people, a process that was more painful at some points than enjoyable, but Niall’s more than satisfied with the team they’ve compiled. Everyone works well together, playing off each other easily, and it all clicks in a way that makes Niall feel like this is all worth it. Niall’s excited with the progress they’ve made, content with the way the songs are starting to come together into something that’s so much more real than a distant melody he hears in his head.  
   
Something’s different, though, than the rest of the studio days. Something’s shifted between Niall and Bressie, something small and subtle enough to make Niall wonder if anyone else feels it the way he does. It’s definitely there, though, and it’s undeniable to Niall. Niall feels it in the sweet curl of Bressie’s arm around his waist, the brush of breath against his neck when Bressie whispers in his ear. It travels through Niall during every laugh, resonates deep in his bones every time he smiles. Niall revels in it, sinks into it, never wants it to stop.  
   
They break for lunch a little past noon when Louis arrives with containers of Thai takeaway courtesy of the little shop down the street that’s become Niall’s favorite. Bressie lets him in with a surprised look on his face, glancing at Niall with a questioning raise of his eyebrows.  
   
Niall smiles sheepishly and laughs as Louis gets friendly with the musicians, telling Bressie, “Sorry, forgot to mention he was in town for a little while.”  
   
“Oh,” is all Bressie says at first, and the smile on Niall's face falters until Bressie grins more genuinely. “That's great, Little. I'm sure you've missed him.”  
   
“Yeah, it's been good. We wanted to do some writing, but it hasn't really happened. The two of us were never really as productive together as him and Liam were,” Niall explains, watching Louis fondly as he jokes loudly with Bree and their second guitarist, Connor. Bree has stars in her eyes that Niall recognizes right away, and Niall wonders, not for the first time, if a love for performing is the only reason she auditioned for this spot.  
   
Louis catches Niall's eye and excuses himself, coming over with a large smile that's much too infectious. He sidles up to Niall's side, asking with a stage whisper, “Niall, who is the fit blonde, and can you please set me up?”  
   
Louis's clearly motioning towards Niall's bassist, Eryn, but Niall plays dumb, looking around the room exaggeratedly. The frustration on Louis's face is clear, and even Bressie cracks a smile at his deepening frown.  
   
“Dunno, mate,” Niall says when Louis looks ready to burst, “only see one fit blond here and he may be taken.”  
   
Niall blushes as soon as the words leave his mouth, and he glances up at Bressie with wide eyes and his heart beating fast. Bressie looks just as surprised, but his face softens quickly, taking Niall's hand and interlocking their fingers. He doesn't correct Niall, and Niall allows himself to breathe easily, reminds himself that this is what they want, what they both want, and leans against Bressie's arm at his side.  
   
Louis looks between both of them, face caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, and ends up just rolling his eyes. “Fat load of help you are. I come all the way to Ireland and you can't even help me get a proper shag. Might need to revoke your lad status and give it to Liam.”  
   
“You would never.”  
   
“I could,” Louis scoffs. His eyes are soft and warm and he looks at Niall, crinkles at the corner of them more prominent than ever. He pats Niall's cheek. “But you're right, I won't. Now, excuse me, I need to come up with my own chat up lines since I've clearly lost my wing man.”  
   
He takes off, turning and grinning sharply, when Bressie chastises him playfully with, “Leave those musicians alone, Tomlinson. They're not getting paid to flirt with ye.”  
   
“Taken, huh?” Bressie leans down to whisper in Niall’s ear, and Niall blushes again, hiding his shy smile against Bressie’s arm.  
   
“Am I getting a bit ahead of myself?” Niall asks.  
   
Bressie chuckles, deep and low in his throat, and Niall can feel it against him. He presses a feather-light kiss to Niall’s temple. “I don’t think so, really.”  
   
Niall smiles wider. His chest is full and warm, like someone’s switched out his heart with something thick and molten. It fills him to the core, consuming him, and he never wants the feeling to stop.  
   
\--  
   
Louis’s more than helpful during the recording. He’s got more experience on the production side of things than Niall does, almost matching Bressie in his knowledge now, and it’s fantastic having a new pair of ears, a new set of ideas and opinions. Louis stays glued to Niall’s side for most of it, and while Niall doesn’t mind him and his familiar presence, it doesn’t keep him from overlooking the wide berth that Bressie gives the both of them. Bressie doesn’t argue with Louis the way that Liam does during these stages, instead letting Niall make the decisions when there’s conflicting opinions. He doesn’t push, and Niall appreciates it, but he’s already longing for that morning when it was Bressie’s arm brushing against his at the mixers instead of Louis’s knobby elbow knocking into his own.  
   
They break again in a few hours when everyone seems to fizzling a bit. Niall knows what it’s like to be pushed to his limits in the studio, recognizes the signs when musicians start messing up on easy chords or forgetting well-practiced beats. Niall wants to do this carefully, slowly. There’s no rush, no need to get an album out by a certain date and time. This is supposed to be steady, fun, and he doesn’t need to tire anyone to the point of exhaustion.  
   
Niall just barely gets out of playing wingman for Louis, escaping instead to grab one of the fizzy drinks they have set out when Bree sidles up to his side, elbowing him gently in the ribs.  
   
“So, I take it that your talk went well?” she asks, motioning towards Bressie who’s discussing something with Connor.  
   
“I think so,” Niall says ducking his head a bit shyly when Bree smiles cheekily.  
   
“I’m glad,” Bree says, tone mockingly serious. “Couldn’t have had any issues fucking up my first chance at true stardom.”  
   
Niall laughs in surprise, his loud laugh, the one that comes from somewhere deep in his belly. Bressie looks up when he does, catching his eyes, and Niall’s smile quickly turns into something softer that he can’t seem to keep off his face.  
   
“Go over there,” Bree says with fond exasperation, pushing Niall gently in Bressie’s direction, and Niall laughs again, but doesn’t argue.  
   
Bressie sees Niall coming and excuses himself from his conversation with Connor, meeting Niall halfway so they’re both leaning against the wall farthest from where everyone else is gathered. Their arms and hips are pressed together, and otherwise they’re not really touching. For Niall, it’s enough.  
   
“Are you happy with how everything’s coming along?” Bressie asks, and Niall nods right away without hesitation.  
   
“It’s a bit difficult to wrap my head around, actually,” Niall says with a huff of laughter. “Like this is really happening. My own album, Jesus. Didn’t think I could ever do it.”  
   
“I never doubted you for a second,” Bressie assures him, checking his hip gently, making Niall grin uncontrollably. “These guys are great too, glad we found them,” he adds, motioning towards the rest of the band.  
   
Niall watches them, silently agreeing. Louis’s across the room, flirting with Eryn even though it’s clear that he’s striking out badly. Bree and Connor are laughing loudly in the corner now about something, and Sean their pianist is taking a quick kip on the sofa. Niall loves the feel of this studio, the chemistry between everyone. They’re quickly on their way to becoming a family.  
   
“Me too,” Niall says softly.  
   
Bressie takes his hand again and Niall leans into him, knowing that this is one of those moments he’ll keep with him for a long time.  
   
\--  
   
The rest of his week with Louis passes by quickly, and before he realizes it, Niall’s driving to drop him off at the airport.  
   
“It was nice having you here, Louis, don’t be a stranger,” Niall said, bringing Louis in for a tight hug. His face presses into Louis’s shoulder, their bodies fitting together easily even with the differences they’ve developed over the past couple of years.  
   
“Oh, don’t say that. I’ll be around so much, that you’ll get sick of me, lad,” Louis says with a chuckle, giving Niall a last squeeze.  
   
“Impossible,” Niall insists.  
   
Niall’s flat feels too big and too empty again without Louis’s loud presence. He considers giving Bressie a call, but stops himself, finger hovering over Bressie’s name in his contacts. Bressie’s made himself sparse this week, his texts coming in less frequently than they usually do. He’s kept his distance at the studio also, usually greeting Niall with a kiss to the forehead or cheek before going off to work with the musicians or their other producers instead and leaving Niall with Louis. Niall’s not worried, exactly, but he’s a bit hesitant. Bressie hasn’t been ignoring him or anything, but the space is there, seemingly stretching for miles even when they’re in the same room together. The curl of anxiety in Niall’s chest is small, something he can deal with easily, but it’s still there.  
   
Luckily, Niall doesn’t have to worry about his too big flat for long. It fills up fast when Eoghan invites himself over the night the X-Factor finally goes back on air, Laura and Bressie arriving not long after when Laura realizes what the two of them are up to.  
   
Bressie seems like his usual self, wrapping Niall in a large hug and kissing the corner of his mouth softly in greeting. Niall feels like he was worried about nothing while he turns the telly on before he serves dinner, letting the familiar opening music filter into the kitchen while he piles food onto four plates. Bressie’s hovering behind him the whole time, always with a hand on Niall’s back or waist like he needs the point of connection after being apart. He leaves only when Niall makes him, insisting that he’s fine to finish on his own and bring everything out.  
   
“You invite yourselves over and then don’t even save me room on my own damn couch,” Niall mumbles when he gets into the living room, passing everyone their plates.  
   
“Sorry, love,” Laura says, not sounding sorry at all with her eyes glue to the screen as the group performance starts up. “Chair’s all open for you, though.”  
   
Niall doesn’t bother mentioning that the chair’s got shit view of the telly because they all know it, instead taking a seat on the floor between Bressie’s legs, his back against the couch. Bressie’s hand immediately comes to Niall’s shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles in the junction of his neck that makes him absolutely melt. From the corner of his eye, Niall notices Eoghan and Laura share a knowing look, but ignores it, focusing on Louis’s face on the screen instead.  
   
“He’s been doing well for himself on here, hasn’t he?” Eoghan asks as the cameras take another shot of Louis watching the performance from his seat at the judge’s table.  
   
“Still weird seeing him on that side of the table,” Niall admits. “But yeah, his acts have been smashing it, haven’t they?”  
   
The screen pans out to show the entire judge’s table, Louis and Nick arguing with teasing smiles on both of their faces. The camera keeps switching between them and the girl group that Louis had formed himself at the beginning of the season, the girls, including the one that Niall and Willie had favored during auditions, giggling madly at the judges’ antics.  
   
“Have you talked to him since he went back to London?” Laura asks, poking her toes into Niall’s side and making him squirm.  
   
“Did a few hours ago,” Niall says with a roll of his eyes, “and the last time before that was a couple days ago. He’s been calling a lot since he came up to visit.”  
   
“That’s sweet. Are all the little popstars starting to miss each other?” Laura teases, Eoghan laughing beside her.  
   
Niall doesn’t rise to her bait, knows she’s just trying to get some kind of reaction out him. He laughs along instead, shaking his head. “Miss them all the time, don’t I? Imagine going from living on top of one another for five years to barely seeing each other at all. It’s hard.”  
   
“You miss us when you were on the road?” Eoghan asks with just enough cheek in his voice that it would mask the sincerity and genuine curiosity for anyone who didn't know him as well as Niall.  
   
Niall pretends to consider for a moment, before saying, “Nah, only miss Bressie most days.”  
   
Eoghan and Laura both look affronted when Niall twists around to look up at them, but Bressie looks pleased, even more so when Niall wraps a hand around his around his ankle briefly.  
   
“Brat,” Laura says fondly, flicking Niall's ear and making him laugh deep and full from his belly.  
   
“It's okay, we don't miss you either. See enough of your ugly face everywhere we go anyway,” Eoghan says dismissively.  
   
Bressie doesn't say anything right away but he squeezes Niall’s shoulder, curling his fingers in the longer hairs at the back of Niall’s neck.  
   
Laura and Eoghan are deep in an animated discussion about all the unexpected places they've run into One Direction merchandise when Bressie finally leans down, tipping Niall’s head up at the same time and whispering in Niall's ear, breath hot against his skin and making him shiver. “I always miss you the most too.”  
   
Niall feels his face warm, and he grins wide, leaning most of his weight against Bressie's leg at his side while he listens to Laura and Eoghan bicker with that same warm glow inside his chest.  
   
Even though it’s late, they pop in a film when The X-Factor ends, Laura getting her pick after a few intense rounds of “Rock, Paper, Scissors”. Niall feels himself fading a few minutes into it, warm with the drinks he’d had earlier and comfortable still leaned up against Bressie’s leg. He’s aware of Eoghan’s soft snores and the quiet exchange happening between Laura and Bressie, but he’s too far gone to acknowledge any of it, even when his own name filters through to what’s left of his consciousness.  
   
“Just be careful,” he hears Laura say at one point, but it’s hard to concentrate on what she means when he’s drifting off and Bressie’s hands are in his hair, his touch making Niall all soft and boneless.  
   
Niall feels like he’s been sleeping for ages when Bressie shakes his shoulder gently and whispers, “Chief, wake up. We’re gonna head home.”  
   
Niall buries his face in Bressie’s leg for a moment before blinking his eyes open blearily. His back is killing him, his mouth dry and his eyes gummy already. One of Bressie’s hands is still in his hair, but makes its way down to rest on Niall’s shoulder instead, squeezing it before urging him to get up.  
   
Eoghan’s passed out on Laura’s lap, snuffling a bit angrily when she tries to wake him. “Get up, you lump,” she says, no real harshness in her voice.  
   
Niall gets up slowly, partly because he knows that it’ll take a bit to get Eoghan up and moving again and also because despite the crick in his neck and the stiffness of his back, he’s comfortable here with Bressie behind him.  
   
“There’s plenty of room for everyone to stay the night,” Niall offers when Eoghan’s finally gotten to his feet lethargically.  
   
“Got my show in the morning,” Eoghan says in between a large yawn.  
   
“Have to be up early for a photoshoot,” Laura adds apologetically. “Maybe next time, babe.”  
   
Niall nods, following Laura and Eoghan to the front door, aware of Bressie behind him.  
   
“Night, love, we’ll see you soon,” Laura says, saying goodbye with a quick peck on Niall’s mouth. Eoghan leaves him a much wetter kiss against his cheek that makes Niall giggle, and then it’s just him and Bressie in the small entryway.  
   
“Had a good time tonight, Niall,” Bressie says with a warm smile.  
   
Niall nods, smiling sheepishly as he says, “Sorry for being a shit host. Didn’t realize how knackered I was.”  
   
Bressie’s so close and the tiny hallway seems so much smaller with the two of them there together. Niall’s expecting Bressie to go in for a hug, but he’s surprised when Bressie lays a hand on his cheek instead, kissing him softly.  
   
It’s nothing like the kiss that Laura left him with. It makes Niall’s breath catch in his throat, and he’s too shocked to kiss back. He wants to sink into Bressie, to melt against him, but instead Niall’s frozen in place, letting Bressie kiss him gently.  
   
Kissing Bressie is never a romance movie moment. It’s never large swells of music or fireworks bursting in the distance. Instead it’s a simmer that Niall feels in his belly, a soft lick of heat that fills his chest and gets bigger with every press of Bressie’s lips against his.  
   
Niall’s unsure of what to say when Bressie pulls away, the familiar feel of his lips still tingling against Niall’s. He manages to stutter out a, “Um, see you soon, I suppose,” mentally kicking himself afterwards because he couldn’t think of anything better.  
   
Bressie’s eyes are wide, like he’s surprised at himself, like everything hasn’t been leading up to this moment. It passes quickly, though, and he kisses Niall again, a soft peck this time, before saying, “Bye, Little,” and leaving Niall on his own.  
   
Niall’s left standing in the doorway for a little bit, counting down from ten over and over again in his head as he tries to process what’s just happened. When he finally finds himself in bed he can still feel Bressie against him everywhere, his lips tingling and his heart fluttering, and he turns the light off with a soft smile and a blush high on his cheeks.  
   
\--  
   
Niall spends the next few days thrumming with fast electric energy. He feels invincible, like he can’t be touched, the same way he did standing in front of that crowd at Harry’s show, the same way he does any time he’s on stage. For once, everything seems to be falling exactly into place.  
   
Niall picks out a shortlist of songs, compiling them and rearranging them until he has something that could be an album, a cohesive and thought-out tracklist. He crams in studio days, recording until his voice is sore and he’s left drained in a way that makes him feel accomplished instead of exhausted.  
   
“I was a bit worried,” Niall admits one night to Bressie when they’ve abandoned their work in the studio, opting instead to kiss on the couch because they’re alone and have all the time in the world. Niall’s lips are sore, and he’s sure they must look red and puffy from Bressie’s teeth on them, but he doesn’t care, capturing Bressie’s bottom lip again.  
   
“Worried about what?” Bressie asks, squeezing at Niall’s waist.  
   
Niall looks down at him with a sheepish smile. Bressie’s laid out on the couch, Niall straddling his hips and hovering above him. He’s half hard just from a bit of snogging, but there’s no urgent need to get off, not when Niall’s so content to just touch, to feel Bressie’s skin and the press of his lips.  
   
“Dunno, just didn’t see you much while Louis was here,” Niall says. “It didn’t seem like you were avoiding me, but I felt like I was just making it bigger than it was in my head.”  
   
Bressie laughs, kissing at Niall’s throat. “Just thought you’d like time with Louis, that’s all. Plus, whenever we’re together, I want you all to myself. Didn’t think Louis would appreciate me always pulling you away now that I know I can have you again.”  
   
Niall beams at that, face warm and feeling pleased and smug. He kisses Bressie again more harshly, grinding his hips down a bit when Bressie squeezes at his arse.  
   
They don’t get off that night, Bressie keeping with his promise to take things slow. Niall's ready, though, more than ready, but he's happy keeping with their steady pace for now.  
   
He wakes up one morning, still filled with the same energy, but without the prospect of studio time to release it. He looks around the flat instead, trying to find things to keep him occupied and entertained.  
   
There’s an extra guest room that he hasn’t touched in the last couple of months. It’s empty, no furniture, and for a while it just held the boxes that Niall didn’t think he needed to unpack straight away. He’s unsure what he’d planned to do with it originally, but there’s nothing there now, and Niall feels it’s time to do something with it.  
   
The paint’s starting to peel off the walls so he drives to the hardware store he’s taken a favor to, and there’s a young girl working who blushes when she sees him but otherwise remains professional while he asks questions. It’s nearing lunchtime by the time he comes home with a few cans of yellow paint. The color is pale but warm, and he takes a liking to it as soon as he sees it because it reminds him of stepping into the sun after spending hours locked indoors. He still doesn’t know what the room is going to be used for, but somehow he knows that the color is perfect.  
   
Niall eats a quick lunch before setting off to work. He covers the floor of the room with the clear, plastic tarp he’d bought and digs through his drawers for something to wear that he doesn’t mind getting dirty. Eventually, he comes up with a t-shirt turned vest that’s open enough on the side to reveal his skinny ribs and a pair of joggers that are already speckled with spray paint.  
   
The sun is bright and high in the sky when Niall starts painting, filling the small room in a warm glow of light, and chilly December air filters in through the open window while the sharp scent of paint filters out. It’s mindless work, Niall’s back and shoulders starting to ache relatively quickly with the effort of it, but he revels in it, his mind as blank as the wall in front of him. It’s just him, the paint, and Sinatra filtering through the speakers of his laptop.  
   
Soon enough, Niall feels like there’s more paint drying on his skin than on the walls. There’s a yellow stripe streaked across his forehead from where he’d carelessly brushed a strand of hair from his eyes, and countless other spots on his arms and even his sides. He feels content, though, happy with the soreness of his muscles and the progress he’s made in a few short hours.  
   
Niall’s in the kitchen taking a break and grabbing a drink when there’s a sharp knock on the door. He glances at the security screens in the kitchen, somehow unsurprised to see Bressie’s face distorted on the screen. A tiny smile breaks out on his face as he makes his way to the door.  
   
“Bressie. What are you doing here?” Niall asks.  
   
Bressie’s dressed warm and cozy in a coat with a thick cardigan underneath and a scarf wrapped around his neck, his nose and cheeks red from the cold. He smiles wide, laughter barely contained when he says, “Just was around here and thought I’d pop by. We doing arts and crafts today, then?”  
   
He brushes a hand on Niall’s cheek, tips of his fingers coming away with yellow flakes on them. Niall feels his face burning warm, and he hopes his blush isn’t as evident as it usually is.  
   
“Not exactly. Was painting the spare room,” Niall explains, stepping back to let Bressie in. He waits while Bressie toes his shoes off, leading him back to where the guest room is.  
   
“It’s looking good, Chief,” Bressie says with a low whistle, looking around the room.  
   
“Still a lot to go,” Niall replies with a shrug.  
   
It does look good, though, and Niall’s more than proud, of not only the room but of the flat in general, of all he’s done with it.  
   
“Let me lend you a hand, then,” Bressie says, already shrugging out of his cardigan before Niall can say anything in protest.  
   
“You really don’t need to -”  
   
Bressie shakes his head. “Want to, Niall. It’ll be faster with the two of us working, won’t it?”  
   
“Can’t really lend you a shirt,” Niall says, crossing his arms with a teasing smile. “Dunno if I have anything that would fit.”  
   
“No problem,” Bressie says, already tugging at the collar of the shirt he’d had on under his cardigan. He lifts it over his head almost exaggeratedly, Niall shamelessly watching the motion with wide eyes.  
   
“Um, right, I guess that works,” Niall says, mouth a bit dry. Bressie’s still got a white vest on, but it does nothing to hide the defined muscles of his arms and shoulders and it’s a lot for Niall to take in.  
   
Bressie just smirks, picking up a roller without a word and setting off to work.  
   
Niall follows his lead, swallowing thickly before picking up the roller he’d been using earlier. The two of them work relatively silently, Bressie singing quietly under his breath when a song he recognizes comes playing through the speakers. They work in sync, the same way they have been in the studio, dancing around each other with a familiarity that Niall has with few people these days.  
   
Every once in a while, Niall glances over his shoulder, watching the shift of Bressie’s muscles as he paints. The broad expanse of his back is more than a bit distracting, and Bressie catches him staring more than once, always smirking and stealing quick kisses and catching Niall off-guard.  
   
Niall finds himself staring much longer than he means to when Bressie brings the hem of his shirt up to wipe at his face, revealing the flat planes of his stomach and the thick trail of hair disappearing down into the waistband of his jeans. He thinks about pressing Bressie against the wall, settling between the V of his legs. It’s near torture only looking when he still remembers what it feels like when he also used to be able to touch, to taste, to feel.  
   
Bressie catches his eye from next to him, half a smile gracing his features as he cheekily asks, “You okay, Niall? Don’t have something on my face, do I?”  
   
The heat rises to Niall’s face as rapidly as his heart’s beating in his chest, and he shakes his head quickly, wondering if there’s any way to adjust himself subtly in his joggers.  
   
He lets out a nervous laugh, the tension in the room so thick he can feel it weighing down on him like something physical and almost suffocating.  
   
“Do got a bit here,” he says honestly, pointing at a spot near Bressie’s collarbone that’s streaked with yellow. “Also a little something here,” he adds, bringing up the smaller brush he’d switched to a bit earlier and smearing a blot of paint down the bridge of Bressie’s nose.  
   
Niall can’t control the peal of laughter that escapes at the look of shock on Bressie’s face, continuing to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of him with his painted nose.  
   
“I can’t believe you actually -” Bressie says in surprise, but a smile breaks out on his face too.  
   
Niall’s still laughing, unable to stop now that he’s started, and he leans forward, burying his giggles against Bressie’s shoulder.  
   
“I’m sorry, Brez, Oh my God, your _face_ -”  
   
When Niall lifts his head up, Bressie’s impossibly close and the laughter dies suddenly in Niall’s throat. His breath hitches a little instead and all he can think about this that fraction of distance between the two of them, about how easy it would be to close it, how there’s nothing he wants more.  
   
He’s about to pull away when Bressie places a hand on his cheek, cupping his face. Niall stills, not knowing what to do when Bressie kisses first the corner of his mouth, and then moves on to press lightly on his lips when he doesn’t protest.  
   
Every inch of Niall sags with the first press of Bressie’s mouth against him. He sinks into it easily, because this is easy, familiar. When Bressie’s hand comes to rest on Niall’s side, fingers slotting against the spaces between his ribs, Niall feels like he’s nineteen again, kissing Bressie for the first time. When Bressie presses against the seam of Niall’s mouth with his tongue, Niall feels like he’s twenty-one again, sneaking off with Bressie into the loo of a club during his birthday. And when Bressie presses against his shoulder until he’s lying down on the crinkly plastic of the tarp, Niall feels twenty-five and like he’s finally, finally returned home.  
   
Bressie’s hovering over Niall and all Niall wants right now is to feel him pressed up against him instead. He’s aching to touch, not sure if he wants his hands on Bressie’s face or his neck or chest, only sure that he does want. It’s like something in him has snapped, all the tension hovering between the two of them breaking like humidity after a thunderstorm.  
   
Their kisses turn harder, filthier, lots of teeth and tongue and Niall pulling at Bressie’s bottom lip the way he knows always makes Bressie moan. Bressie’s got a hand in Niall’s hair, thick fingers tangled in it and pulling just hard enough to make Niall gasp. Niall cranes his neck, lets Bressie bite at it, teeth harsh against his skin.  
   
“Tell me if you want to stop,” Bressie mumbles, moving his lips down Niall’s chest. The slit in the side of Niall’s vest is wide enough that Bressie only has to move it aside a bit to get at Niall’s nipples. Niall moans at the first touch of Bressie’s mouth there, and the very last thing he wants is to stop.  
   
Bressie sucks and bites at Niall’s nipple until it’s nearly sore, moving on to the other one just as Niall’s reaching the brink of oversensitivity. Every tug goes straight to Niall’s cock, and he ruts up until he meets Bressie’s hip, desperate for some friction.  
   
When Bressie moves up to kiss Niall again, his mouth is slick with spit, slipping against Niall’s mouth easily. “You know this thing is obscene, right?” he asks, tugging at the collar of Niall’s vest.  
   
Niall hisses a bit at the catch of the fabric against his sensitive nipples, but it turns into a laugh at the feel of Bressie’s fingers digging into his sides and tickling his ribs playfully. “Not like it’s any better than what you’re wearing,” Niall scoffs. “Felt ready to jump out of my skin when you took your shirt off earlier.”  
   
Bressie’s touch is soft as he travels his fingers lower down Niall’s side until he’s pushing his fingers underneath the waistband of his joggers. They undress slowly, Niall feeling hot and desperate for it with every article of clothing that’s pushed to the side. The tarp becomes hot and sticky against Niall’s bare back, but he barely notices it when Bressie finally wraps his hand around both of their cocks.  
   
Niall digs his fingers into Bressie’s back, tries to pull him in closer as Bressie starts to move his hand faster. Niall’s cock is wet, leaking at the tip, and it slides against Bressie’s easily. Their mouths press together, but they’re not kissing, Niall breathing heavily as he feels the coil of tension in his belly getting tighter and tighter.  
   
“Shit, Bressie -” Niall starts to say, but his words turn into a low whine at the flick of Bressie’s wrist. Bressie just laughs, kissing underneath Niall’s jaw once.  
   
Niall comes with a groan, still rutting into Bressie’s hand until he’s coming too, both of their stomachs and Bressie’s hand sticky with spunk. Niall feels looser and more relaxed than he has in ages, his chest still rising and falling rapidly as he tries to regain his senses. He turns his head, looks over to where Bressie’s lying beside him, also on his back now, and smiles soft and lazy.  
   
There are streaks of paint all over Bressie’s body, probably rubbed off from the floor and from Niall’s fingers. He looks gorgeous, though, smiling at Niall with a bit of awe that makes Niall’s stomach flip pleasantly.  
   
“You’ve still got paint on your nose,” Niall laughs and Bressie groans, wiping at his face in distress.  
   
“First time we’ve fucked in years and I do it with paint on my face,” Bressie mumbles, tensing up afterwards. “Shit, we just -”  
   
Niall stops him, placing his hand lightly on Bressie’s chest. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re okay.”  
   
“I just can't believe we're really doing this,” Bressie says, covering his face with his arm. “We're actually moving past being just friends.”  
   
“I think we moved past friends a long time ago,” Niall says flatly. He tugs at Bressie’s arm until Bressie’s turning on his side and they’re facing each other. He scoots over so they’re a bit closer, tangling their legs together and pressing a hand to Bressie’s cheek.  
   
When they kiss again it’s soft and languid, their noses brushing slightly. Niall loves this, loves kissing, always has, and he’s always loved kissing Bressie more than anyone. He’s missed having Bressie like this and now that the last bit if the dam’s broken, all his old feelings and emotions are flooding back into him at a rapid place. Niall never wants to stop having Bressie in every way that he can, after going so long never fully having him in the way that he wanted.  
   
“I’m okay with doing this,” Niall says when they part. “I want you. In every way. I want it to be real. No more just messing around. I want this to be it.”  
   
Bressie looks at him, eyes searching his face, and Niall’s not sure what exactly he’s looking for. Niall supposes he finds it, though, because Bressie nods as best he can in the position they’re in, smiling soft and slow before kissing Niall once more. “I want you too. You're all I've ever wanted, Niall, and I always took you whichever way you let me.”  
   
Niall can't help the tiny flutter of nerves in his chest that makes him wonder if they're going too fast, if all this is too much too soon, but the feeling of Bressie pressed up against him makes him think that it’s worth taking the risk.  
   
\--  
   
Even with the both of them working, Niall and Bressie only finish one of the walls before calling it a day. It’s hard to concentrate with their wandering hands and stolen kisses, and soon it’s obvious they won’t be getting much more work done that night.  
   
“Gonna stay the night?” Niall asks, bringing Bressie in for another kiss. They’re hovering in Niall’s entryway again, just like the other night, but this feels more solid, more real.  
   
“Am I allowed to use your shower?” Bressie asks back, eyebrow raised. “This paint itches like mad.”  
   
Niall pretends to consider it for a second, giggling when Bressie squeezes his waist. “We can probably arrange something.”  
   
The standing shower in Niall’s bathroom is more than big enough for two, and Niall turns on the water nearly as hot as it will go, letting the bathroom fill with steam. He looks for a change of clothes for Bressie as the water heats up, eventually coming up with a jumper and pair of joggers he nicked from him a while back.  
   
“Lucky I found something for you to wear,” Niall says, tossing the clothes at Bressie on his way into the bathroom. He strips off his own vest as he goes, letting it fall to the floor in a pile with his pants.  
   
“Would it really have been a problem if you didn’t?”  
   
“Probably not.”  
   
The water is the perfect temperature when Niall gets in, just hot enough against his skin that it’s not scorching, and Niall just stands under the stream for a while he waits for Bressie, letting it loosen the aching muscles in his back and shoulders.  
   
They take turns soaping each other up and Niall’s missed this, the simplicity of just feeling Bressie’s skin, familiar muscle dancing underneath his fingertips. Niall lets Bressie wash his hair, thick fingers massaging his scalp, and then repays him with a blowjob that’s hell on Niall’s knees, but totally worth it for a chance to hear Bressie moaning out his name, his fingers scrabbling uselessly for purchase against the tiled walls.  
   
They eat dinner together on Niall’s couch, pressed up against each other, and then go to bed early. Niall’s sleepy already, eyelids heavy and belly full of warm, rich food. He tucks easily under Bressie’s arm and hooks a leg over his hip, feeling safe at his side. Bressie runs a large hand down his back, whispers a, “goodnight”, into his hairline, and Niall falls asleep easily with a smile on his face.  
   
\--  
   
The days blend into each other, passing by quickly with trips to the studio and nights spent with friends or with each other. The holidays sneak up quickly with a cold snap that leaves Niall padding around his flat in thick socks and a jumper of Bressie’s that’s too big but just warm enough to keep him cozy while his heating is on the fritz.  
   
“Paid a small fortune for this place and the heat doesn’t work in the middle of the feckin’ winter,” Niall mutters angrily one morning when he wakes up curled tight into Bressie’s side to conserve heat.  
   
“I keep saying we could just stay at my place,” Bressie mumbles sleepily, and Niall glares at him because that’s not the _point_.  
   
Bressie pulls Niall in closer before he can take the time to reply, sneaking a hand underneath the hem of Niall’s shirt and laying his palm hot and firm on the skin of his bare back.  
   
“Plus, it hasn’t been all bad,” Bressie whispers huskily into Niall’s ear. “Been enjoying you walking around in me clothes all this time.”  
   
Niall shivers when Bressie scratches his dull fingernails down his back, tilting his chin up so Bressie can envelope his mouth in a kiss. He thinks about the bruise on his neck and the matching one on his chest, and he supposes that Bressie has a point.  
   
There’s a light dusting of snow coming down the morning they leave for Mullingar together, but it’s the soft flaky kind that, despite the temperature, melts before it even hits the ground. Bressie still drives slowly and carefully, and Niall tries in vain to stay awake to keep him company. It’s much too early, though, and Niall finds himself nodding off every few minutes, curled up small in the front seat with Bublé playing softly through the speakers.  
   
Coming back to Mullingar always feels like stepping into a time capsule. It’s one of the most stable parts of Niall’s life, one of the few that’s never-changing. Bobby’s house still has the same pictures on the wall, and Bobby himself is always the same, quiet and smiling despite his graying hair and gammy hip.  
   
Christmas Eve is spent at Bobby’s, Bressie fitting in as seamlessly as the pictures on the wall and the decorations on the mantel piece. He happily plays with Theo and patiently answers questions asked by Niall’s many, many cousins while Niall helps Bobby out in the kitchen, and Niall has a hard time keeping the smile off his face, his heart already feeling three times too big for his chest.  
   
“You seem happy,” Bobby says simply, a small smile tugging at his own lips.  
   
Niall ducks his head and shrugs, and that seems to be enough for Bobby, who doesn’t question him much farther.  
   
During the night, Niall drinks too much of Greg’s Irish coffee that’s always been more whiskey than coffee, and it sits warm in his belly, making him feel loose and giggly by the time dinner’s over. He pulls Bressie through the house, insisting he needs a tour, but only takes him to the spots he saw Denise hang sprigs of holly and mistletoe earlier that day, pulling Bressie in for smiling kisses under doorways and entryways to the narrow halls.  
   
They spend Christmas morning with their respective families, meeting up for dinner with Bressie’s parents. It’s a small affair and Niall’s happy just chatting with Bressie’s da and asking after his sisters who couldn’t make it that night. After dinner they cuddle up by the fire with mugs of hot chocolate with generous dollops of Bailey’s, Niall falling asleep well before the night is over.  
   
New Year’s is celebrated down at the pub they always go to when they’re back home, Niall happy-drunk on cheap champagne when Bressie dips him down and kisses him for nearly a full minute as the clock strikes midnight. He’s dizzy with bubbly and affection when they part, and he pulls Bressie down again, kissing him more softly, smiling against his mouth the whole time.  
   
\--  
   
“Can you put your fecking phone down for five minutes?”  
   
Niall tilts his head back, only succeeding in getting a glimpse of Eoghan’s neck and chin. It’s a weird angle, but that’s to be expected when Niall’s lying with his head pillowed on Eoghan’s thigh.  
   
“I could. But don’t particularly want to,” Niall says, laughing when Eoghan flicks his ear.  
   
“You better not be sexting when I’m sitting right here,” Eoghan grumbles.  
   
Niall just grins wider, texting Bressie, _eoghan thinks we’re sexting_  
   
"Bressie said we can move it to the group chat if you’re feeling left out,” Niall says, reading Bressie’s reply out loud.  
   
“I’ll pass,” Eoghan says dryly. “You’re a shit guest, did you know that?”  
   
_eoghan’s being mean to me :(_ Niall texts instead of replying.  
   
Bressie replies quickly with _tell him i’ll come beat him up_  
   
Eoghan sighs loudly when Niall giggles, and Niall cranes his head back again, smiling sheepishly this time. “Sorry. Bressie’s been bugging me to go to the gym with him while he’s training for his triathlon.”  
   
“Wouldn’t kill you to go.”  
   
Niall smirks. “It wouldn’t, but Bressie doesn’t get much training done when I’m there.”  
   
“Gross,” Eoghan says, and even in his position, Niall doesn’t miss the way his nose crinkles.  
   
The week back to Dublin has been busy, the small holiday bubble that Bressie and Niall immersed themselves in popping rather forcefully. Niall’s barely seen Bressie at all, only catching him through texts and calls while he’s busy planning a fundraiser for Lust for Life and clocking in more hours at the gym to prepare for his triathlon. Niall’s tried to keep himself busy, working around the flat and going into the studio when he can, but it’s not the same without Bressie there with him. The other producers they’ve been working with have been great, but they don’t click with Niall as well as Bressie does, don’t understand Niall at the same level, and it’s hard to communicate exactly what he wants with them when Bressie always just seems to know without him saying anything.  
   
Niall finally puts his phone down when Eoghan threatens to take it from him and throw it out the window, putting it face down on his chest and turning his attention back to the film Eoghan put on for the two of them. They’re about an hour into it and Niall has no idea what’s happening. He thinks mermaids might be involved.  
   
His phone’s only down for about five minutes before it starts ringing, and Eoghan groans, muttering, “I swear to God, if it’s Bressie -”  
   
“No,” Niall says, interrupting him when he looks at the screen. “Um, it’s my P.A. I should get this.”  
   
“Oh,” Eoghan says, the surprise in his voice reflecting the same that Niall felt when he saw Charlotte’s name on the screen. “Go ahead, mate.”  
   
Niall grabs his coat, slipping out to the balcony to take the call. It’s cold outside, but the air is crisp and sharp, feeling refreshing on his face and in his lungs after spending the whole day indoors.  
   
“Hello?” Niall answers, leaning his elbows against the railing. He’s barely been outside a minute and his ears and fingers are already starting to chill, and he wishes he’d brought more than just his coat. He needs to start keeping gloves in his pocket like Bressie’s always bugging him to.  
   
“Niall, hello,” Charlotte says pleasantly. “How are you, love?”  
   
“Not too bad.” Niall hasn’t talked to Charlotte much since he’d called her about his studio work. She’s been keeping in touch, but there’s not much for her to do now that Niall’s life has calmed down considerably. It’s not like before when he had a tight schedule to maintain and he had days when he felt like he was drowning when things weren’t organized to a tee.  
   
“Listen, Niall, I got some calls today from the boys down at SyCo.”  
   
Niall’s stomach flips nervously, and he brings his hand up to his mouth without thinking about it, biting at a loose nail. “What about?”  
   
“They want to talk to you, preferably face to face, about what you want to do next. They need to know your plans for the album - whether or not you’re going to tour, where you’re going to go, when you’re going to do it, everything,” Charlotte explains in her serious business voice.  
   
Niall hangs his head for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do we have to do this now?”  
   
“We have to do it as soon as possible. You signed a contract, Niall. Even if you don’t do a tour, they’re expecting an album sometime this year. You know that.”  
   
“It just seems a bit soon,” Niall says.  
   
“They’re not expecting you to be done tomorrow. They just need to know what to expect,” Charlotte says more gently.  
   
For all that the album is coming together, Niall still has the feeling that he’s ages away from being done. He’s never recorded this much by himself. He’s always had the support of three or four other boys, three or four other people to pick things up when they start to fall behind.  
   
“Do I have to come to London?”  
   
A gust of wind comes by, chilling Niall to the bone. He wraps his coat tighter around his body and tries to stop his teeth from chattering. He wonders what the weather is like in London right now, whether there’s been snow or rain or if the cold is as biting. He hasn’t thought about it at all recently, hasn’t even called Willie since before Christmas. London seems a lot farther away than usual.  
   
“It’s what they would like,” Charlotte answers. “Though, if you can’t, we can probably do a conference call or something.”  
   
Niall considers it for a second, looking out over the balcony. The view from Eoghan’s isn’t as nice as Niall’s, but the landscape is still similar, buildings of brick and concrete stretching far and wide. Niall remembers how new the city felt when he’d first touched down, how walking through it was a bit like walking through something from a dream - the edges blurred enough to make it seem familiar, but the details sticking out so sharply that there was a constant reminder that he was far from anywhere that he previously tried to build a home. Dublin never felt as scary as London, though, never as vast or thrumming. Maybe that’s why it was so easy for Niall to settle, to fall into a routine that was steady but not suffocating. London doesn’t seem so scary anymore, even after being away for so long.  
   
“I’ll come back,” Niall decides.  
   
Niall can already hear Charlotte typing away on her keyboard. “Excellent. I’ll set everything up for you then. I’ll see you soon, Niall.”  
   
Niall says his goodbyes, taking in one last breath of fresh, January air, before heading back inside.  
   
\--  
   
Charlotte schedules Niall a meeting with his team for the next week and books him a round trip ticket that will get him in and out of London in three days. He calls Willie finally, who agrees to pick him up from the airport and he also makes plans to get lunch with Liam the day of his meeting. After spending so many days in Dublin, the thought of going back to London is strange, but not as daunting as he first believed it would be.  
   
Niall has his first studio day with Bressie in over two weeks a few days before he has to leave for London. It’s just the two of them again, like when they first started, with Niall cleaning up vocals on some of their earlier tracks. The day is easy, low-pressure, which is probably exactly what they need considering that Bressie looks dead on his feet, dark circles under his eyes.  
   
Niall stops in the middle of his verse, crossing his arms in front of his chest when Bressie yawns largely for the third time in just under a couple of minutes. “Think we should take a break, Brez?”  
   
“I’m fine,” Bressie insists, punctuating the statement with another deep yawn.  
   
“You’re not fine,” Niall says bemusedly. He takes off his headphones, already starting to make his way out of the booth when Bressie protests again with a more forceful, “I’m _fine_.”  
   
Niall doesn’t stop until he’s standing in front of Bressie, and he leans down, kissing him softly with a hand on his cheek. Bressie’s hands come to grip at his bare waist, and his shoulders relax, his mouth opening readily when Niall presses his tongue against the seam of it.  
   
“You’re exhausted,” Niall says softly, climbing into Bressie’s lap willingly when Bressie starts pulling him in closer.  
   
“Maybe a bit,” Bressie admits.  
   
Niall kisses him again, more deeply than before. It’s not the most comfortable kiss, not when they’re cramped together in one chair, the angle unfamiliar and awkward, but Bressie still relaxes further, hand slipping down to Niall’s bum. Niall feels some of the tension in his own body slip away with Bressie pressed against him, moaning when Bressie tangles fingers into the hair at the base of his neck, tipping his head back slightly to kiss down his neck and bite at the jut of his collarbones.  
   
“Is this what you meant by a break?” Bressie mumbles against Niall’s skin, voice deep and husky.  
   
“Not exactly what I had in mind, but I’m not complaining either.”  
   
Bressie laughs, surprising Niall when he starts to get up, hoisting Niall up with his hands firmly supporting the bottom of his thighs. Niall lets out a small squeak that turns into a loud laugh when he gets his legs tight around Bressie’s waist and his arms around his neck. He always feels feather-light in Bressie’s arms, small and compact like he’s got hollow bones. Bressie always treats him like he does too, still reluctant to get too rough after all this time, even when Niall begs him for it.  
   
Bressie walks them over to the couch, sitting down and lowering Niall gently onto his lap again. Niall gets his hands on either side of Bressie’s face, back arching a bit at the feel of Bressie’s hands at the dip of his waist and the harsh tug of teeth at his bottom lip.  
   
“You know, it’s really unfair of you to record like this,” Bressie says, fingers tickling down Niall’s ribs, making him squirm and giggle at the feel of them against his bare skin.  
   
“Used to take my trousers off too when did this in hotels. Would probably have done it starkers if the boys let me.”  
   
“Don’t you try and do that here either. We would never get any work done.”  
   
There’s no rush of clothes being shed. They take their time, kissing deeply, letting hands wander. Niall slips his under Bressie’s shirt, feels across the planes of his abs before pushing the hem up and over his shoulders and discarding it to the floor. Bressie unzips Niall’s jeans slowly, palming at his hardening cock and making his breath hitch. He grinds his hips down farther into Bressie’s grip and feels Bressie’s own length against his thigh as he does. Their kisses get sloppier, more tongue and teeth than anything else when Bressie starts to push Niall’s jeans and briefs down his thighs and strokes down his cock.  
   
“Wanna ride me, pet?” Bressie asks, hand at Niall’s arse. He runs his finger dry over Niall’s hole and Niall gasps, already desperate to push back onto it.  
   
Bressie starts pushing his pants farther down before he even finishes nodding, the two of them giggling as they struggle to get Niall stripped down while he’s still in Bressie’s lap. Bressie shimmies out of his own jeans after, pulling a packet of lube and a condom from his pocket before he does so.  
   
The first, cold press of Bressie’s fingers inside of him is always a surprise, but Niall relaxes quickly as Bressie gets his first knuckle past Niall’s rim. He opens Niall up almost painfully slow, Niall burying his face in Bressie’s neck and breathing wetly when he feels the stretch of the second finger inside him. Niall’s hot all over, knows that there’s a blush spreading over his chest and neck. His cock is trapped between their stomachs, hard and leaking against both of their skin, and he ruts against Bressie desperately at the first brush of a finger against his prostate.  
   
“Fuck, I’m good, Brez -”  
   
Bressie grips hard at Niall’s hips when he starts to sink down on him, enough so that Niall won’t be surprised if he finds finger-shaped bruises there in a few hours. Niall breathes deeply as he gets used to the stretch, at how full he feels with Bressie inside of him.  
   
“Look so good like this, Niall,” Bressie says, tilting Niall’s chin up with just a brush of his fingertips and kissing him softly as Niall bottoms out completely.  
   
Niall uses Bressie’s broad shoulders for leverage as he rides him, his thighs burning and his chest heaving from the effort. It’s brilliant, though, when he finds the right rhythm, the angle just right for Bressie to make him keen with every thrust of his hips. Niall’s cock is hard and heavy between his legs, leaking obscenely, and he could probably come from just this.  
   
He doesn’t have to though. Bressie shifts their position quite suddenly, and Niall finds himself on his back without warning, Bressie holding himself up with an arm by Niall’s head. His other hand wraps around Niall’s cock, making him moan lowly in relief of the pressure and friction.  
   
“Not too tired for this, then?” Niall teases breathlessly, breathing sharply when Bressie hits his prostrate.  
   
“Never too tired for this.”  
   
Niall lets out a breathy laugh. He wraps his legs around Bressie’s waist, hooking his ankles together and pulling him forward as much as he can. He can feel the tension in his stomach tightening and he wants to be as close to Bressie as possible, wants to feel the weight of him and the press of their skin together everywhere.  
   
Niall sees spots of white in his vision when he comes, the force of it wracking through him as Bressie continues to fuck into him, hips moving more and more erratically until he stills with a shudder, the hot press of the condom tight inside Niall.  
   
Niall groans when Bressie exits him and drops on top of him, both of them sticky with sweat and Niall’s stomach tacky with drying come. Bressie feels too hot now, but Niall’s arms and legs feel like lead, and if they didn’t he wouldn’t have the heart to push Bressie away.  
   
“How about now?” Niall asks, tracing small patterns against Bressie’s back.  
   
Bressie makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat.  
   
“How are you feeling now?”  
   
“Exhausted.”  
   
Niall giggles at the feel of Bressie’s breath brushing against his neck, and he tugs at his hair a bit until his mouth is tipping up and their lips are meeting in a surprisingly chaste kiss.  
   
They dress quickly when Niall gets Bressie moving again, heading out early instead of staying to finish their work for the day. Niall drives them both back to his place, running them both a hot, steamy bath that’s just as good for Niall’s aching muscles as it is for the tension Bressie’s been carrying around for the past couple of weeks. They soak for what feels like hours, kissing lazily until Niall’s toes are all wrinkled and the water’s gone too cold to be enjoyable.  
   
Bressie’s got a drawer now in Niall’s room. He has a toothbrush in the bathroom and soaps and shampoos in the shower. The pillow beside Niall’s smells like Bressie most days, and waking up the past few days without anybody beside him has been strange and disconcerting to Niall. Bressie’s filled in all the gaps that Niall noticed when he first moved into his flat. It never feels too big or too empty anymore, not even when Bressie’s gone. There’s reminders of him everywhere, most of them small and subtle, but they’re just enough to remind Niall how much he feels at home now.  
   
\--  
   
“Niall, time to get out of bed.”  
   
Bressie’s voice is soft, teasing and Niall feels it resonate against him more than he truly hears it. Niall snuffles a bit, buries his face deeper in Bressie’s back. He likes being the big spoon most days, even though Bressie’s stupidly huge.  
   
“You’re still in bed,” Niall mumbles sleepily, pressing closer to Bressie, spreading his hand wider across his belly.  
   
Bressie lays his hand on top of Niall’s, laughing softly. “Been out of bed already. Went on a run, had breakfast, then came back here only to have you attach yourself to me like a giant koala.”  
   
Niall grumbles a bit before turning over onto his back. He blinks blearily a few times, Bressie’s smiling face coming into focus as he shifts to face Niall.  
   
“It’s nearly noon, chief,” Bressie says. He runs his fingers down Niall’s cheek, skin catching a bit against Niall’s slight stubble. Niall leans into the touch, his sleep fogged brain urging him to do something embarrassing like rub his face against Bressie’s palm like a cat.  
   
“’M still sleepy,” Niall insists. “How are you not still sleepy?”  
   
Bressie laughs when Niall yawns largely as if to prove his point. Niall brushes it off, though, stretching himself out lazily. His toes brush against Bressie’s bare shins, arms stretching above his head before he throws them across Bressie’s middle and turns to cuddle into him again. Bressie’s warm as he brings his arms around Niall, rubbing his back gently. He smells good, too, fresh and clean like he’s just stepped out of the shower.  
   
Niall feels himself drifting off again when Bressie says, “Gonna have to get up eventually, yeah? Have to get ourselves into the studio today. Didn’t really get much done yesterday, did we?”  
   
“Not right now, though,” Niall says, hooking his leg over Bressie like it’ll actually do anything to stop him from leaving.  
   
“Soon,” Bressie insists. “You can have five more minutes.”  
   
“Not enough.”  
   
Bressie laughs, low in his throat. He responds by cupping Niall’s chin, tipping it up and kissing Niall slow and sweet. Niall’s caught surprised, and Bressie’s tongue slips into his mouth when he lets out a small gasp. There’s already heat pooling in Niall’s belly, his half-hard cock fattening up when Bressie runs a hand down his side and palms at it gently.  
   
“Is this enough of a wakeup call?” Bressie asks, mouth trailing down Niall’s neck. There’s a spot near Niall’s collarbone that he’s sure will be permanently bruised soon, because Bressie’s teeth always seem to find their way there, biting down at the skin and reddening it over and over again.  
   
Bressie doesn’t spend much time there now, pushing down Niall’s briefs and settling between his legs. Niall lets out a shuddering breath when Bressie licks at the sensitive head of his cock, tonguing at the slit like he knows that Niall likes.  
   
“Wouldn’t mind waking up if it was like this every morning.”  
   
Niall’s hands curls into the sheets when Bressie takes the tip of his cock into the wet heat of his mouth, whimpering embarrassingly when he sucks hard, cheeks hollowing obscenely. Bressie grabs at Niall’s hips, canting them up as he moves farther down Niall, and Niall’s back arches when he feels his cock hit the back of Bressie’s throat.  
   
Niall comes at the brush of Bressie’s fingertip against his hole, Bressie sucking him through it until Niall’s physically pushing him away. Bressie’s mouth is red and puffy, hair sticking up in the front where Niall had grabbed at it and Niall groans, bringing him down for a kiss that’s fast and dirty.  
   
“That was unfair,” Niall whines.  
   
“You got an orgasm and I got you awake. We both win, so I hardly see how this can be considered unfair,” Bressie scoffs.  
   
“You played dirty.”  
   
Bressie smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I could’ve played dirtier.”  
   
He grabs at Niall before he can respond, pinning his wrists up above his head with one hand, tickling his ribs with the other one. Niall squirms and yelps between giggles, chest heaving with his laughter and labored breathing.  
   
“Stop, you fucker -”  
   
“Gotta say sorry first,” Bressie says, running his fingers down Niall’s side faster.  
   
Niall’s stomach hurts from laughing so much, squirming harder to try and escape. Bressie’s grip on his wrists is ironclad, though, and Niall knows it’ll be impossible no matter how hard he tries. “Sorry for what?” he asks through his gasping laughter.  
   
“For saying I play dirty.”  
   
There are tears in his eyes by the time Niall finally gives in, gasping out an apology through his labored breathing. Bressie beams, finally letting go of his sore wrists and kissing him on the nose as consolation.  
   
“Hey,” Bressie says as Niall tries to catch his breath, his heart still beating too fast.  
   
“What?” Niall mumbles grumpily, but he softens when he sees the dopey grin on Bressie’s face.  
   
Bressie grabs the wrist Niall’s rubbing, his grip much more gently this time, and kisses the inside of it tenderly, right at the pulse point. “I love you.”  
   
Niall thinks the declaration should feel big, but Bressie says it simply, stating it matter-of-fact like it should be obvious. And maybe it _should_ be obvious, because Bressie’s always loved him. Even before the two of them were anywhere close to being in love, they were there for each other, firm and solid points in one another’s otherwise flighty lives. Niall knows he loves Bressie too, and knows that there’s no point in wondering when it happened, because the emotion has always been, soft and steady like the ebb and flow of the waves washing up on the shore.  
   
“I love you too,” Niall says, the same way he’s said it a million times before this and the same way he knows he’ll say it a million times after.  
   
Bressie kisses him, tender and gentle, their legs tangling and their knees bumping and Niall knows that if he could stay here, right here in this moment, for the rest of time, he would have no complaints.  
   
\--  
   
Packing for London doesn’t take much time at all. Niall gathers the things he’ll need for his trip the night before his flight, folding his clothes neatly and lining them along the bottom of his duffle bag and separating his necessities into their appropriate pockets. The process feels so different from when he packed for Dublin. There’s no finality in his actions, no heavy feeling in his chest of leaving something behind. He knows that when he gets back, that even if his life isn’t exactly the same, the things he’s left behind will be.  
   
Bressie drives him to the airport early in the morning, pressing him against the door of his car and kissing him softly before he heads in. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”  
   
“You have things to do here, Brez. I’ll be fine,” Niall reassures him, not for the first time.  
   
“This is so big, though. I feel like I should be there,” Bressie says with a deep frown.  
   
“It’s _fine._ ”  
   
Bressie sees him off with one last kiss to his temple, and truth is, Niall would like Bressie there with him. He’s never done this alone, and his stomach is bubbling with nerves as the reality of the situation sinks in. By the end of the weekend, Niall will have decided on when to release his album, when - _if_ \- he’s going on tour. And the decision will all be on him, it will all rest on his shoulders. The whole thing is enough to make his head spin.  
   
Niall’s nerves settle a little when he touches down at Heathrow and sees Willie waiting for him with a large, familiar smile.  
   
“Missed you, mate,” Willie says, bringing Niall into a warm hug that Niall returns enthusiastically.  
   
“You too. Everything alright at home? Or am I gonna get back and see the whole place has burned down?”  
   
“Everything’s just the way you left it,” Willie says, flicking the brim of Niall’s hat playfully. “Your accent’s gotten thicker, did you notice?”  
   
Niall laughs, loud and bright, shaking his head as he throws his bags into the back seat. “Can’t say I have, honestly.” He’s a bit more conscious of the way he shapes his vowels now, the lilt in his voice that doesn’t quite match Willie’s the way it used to.  
   
Apart from his apparently thicker brogue, Niall doesn’t feel much different from when he left. He’s a bit lighter though, perhaps. There’s a bit of anxiety thrumming in his bones, but it isn’t something that settled deep in his core like before, and instead bounces over his skin like static electricity, and Niall knows it’s just to do with the meeting and nothing else.  
   
His place really is the way he left it. There’s a few more of Willie’s things lying about, filling in the gaps Niall left behind when he left, but otherwise it’s the same. Everything’s in its proper place and there’s a faint scent of cinnamon in the air like Willie made sure to burn one of the candles Harry had left behind ages ago. It’s not until he arrives that Niall realized he’d been a bit worried about what he’d find, how he would fit into a place where there aren’t neat little spaces carved in for him anymore, but things seem to be okay in a way he didn’t expect them to be.  
   
The X-Factor’s long over, but that doesn’t stop Niall and Willie from cracking open a couple beers and sitting in front of the telly for a couple of hours. Willie puts on episode of the The Bachelor, enduring Niall’s teasing for the first half-hour and then laughing the second half-hour when Niall becomes much too invested in the contestants. It’s an easy night, something simple and familiar that Niall’s grateful for. There’s still a bit of nervous energy crackling against his skin, but he can ignore it without too much effort. For now, it’s better to pretend that tomorrow will be just another day.  
   
\--  
   
A driver takes Niall to the meeting in the morning. He wakes up anxious and jittery, his hands shaking as he brushes his teeth and combs his hair. He nearly spills the tea Willie made for him on himself more than once, and manages to nick himself with the knife he uses to cut into his breakfast. By the time it’s time to go, Willie’s all but pushing him out the door, mumbling over and over again that it will be okay. Niall’s not sure if he believes him.  
   
Niall’s nerves swell when they get caught in bumper-to-bumper traffic. He feels the anxiety building in his chest and he closes his eyes, pressing his skull against the back of his seat. There’s no use asking when they’ll get there when morning traffic is unpredictable at best.  
   
They’re sitting in the same spot for nearly ten minutes when Niall finally takes out his phone. He quickly texts Charlotte and his lawyer that he’ll be a bit late and then barely hesitates before clicking on Bressie’s name.  
   
Niall settles a little just from hearing the dull ringing of the dial tone, and the tension in his shoulders drop almost completely when Bressie answers with a cheery, “Hullo, petal. Meeting over already?”  
   
“Haven’t even gotten there,” Niall says. “Traffic is a bloody nightmare. I’m about ready to hop out of the car and walk the rest of the way.”  
   
The driver catches Niall’s eye in the rearview mirror, giving him a look that clearly reads, _don’t you dare_. Niall smiles sheepishly at him in return.  
   
“You’ll get there soon enough,” Bressie reassures him. “Are you feeling okay?”  
   
“No,” Niall says honestly, looking out the window. There’s a young girl in the car next to him, arguing passionately with who must be her mum in the driver’s seat. The girl’s shirt has a picture of Harry’s face plastered on the front, tour dates lined up in the back. Niall’s stomach twists uncomfortably.  
   
Niall’s voice comes out a lot softer than he thinks it will when he asks, “Brez?” Bressie hums lowly in acknowledgement, and Niall takes a shaky breath before continuing. “Do you think it’s a good idea for me to go on tour?”  
   
“It’s a good idea for you to do what you want, Chief.”  
   
“But are you okay with it?”  
   
Bressie’s quiet for a minute and Niall bites his lip in anticipation. The question’s been somewhere in the back of his mind for a while now, ever since Charlotte told him about management’s request to meet with him. It’s taken so long for him and Bressie to settle into this soft, steady routine of theirs, and sometimes Niall thinks that it’s still on a precipice, like the smallest imbalance will leave it toppling over with no way back up. He doesn’t want to ruin that, not after everything they’ve been through.  
   
“I think it’ll be hard,” Bressie admits finally, and Niall’s stomach sinks like he’s missed a step on the way down a steep flight of stairs.  
   
Niall’s knuckles are white from his hard grip around his phone. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do. Doesn’t know what to expect. There’s a reason he’s been avoiding thinking about this. Niall’s still not sure which answer would be worse - if Bressie told him to go or if he told him to stay.  
   
Niall’s tongue feels too thick in his mouth, like it’ll get caught in his throat if he tries to swallow. He attempts to reply, but the words get stuck, and before he can force them out, Bressie’s interrupting again. “Niall, I think you should do it.”  
   
Niall lets out a large exhale, the air leaving his lungs so quickly and forcefully it’s almost as if someone’s punched him right in the chest. He’s quick to recover from it, though, inhaling deeply with his head and his lungs feeling clearer than they have since Charlotte’s call. “Really?”  
   
“Yeah,” Bressie says softly. “That day you were with Harry up on stage - I’ve never seen you happier. You’re meant to perform, Niall. And even if it will be hard, I don’t think it’s anything we can’t handle.”  
   
“Okay,” Niall says, voice shaky. He clears his throat, repeating with more certainty. “Yeah. Okay.”  
   
“Okay,” Bressie says with a small laugh.  
   
Niall hears the rev of the engine as the car finally begins to push forward, the traffic in front of them clearing up just enough so they’re not at a standstill anymore. There’s still a long ways to go, and Niall’s nerves are still dancing across every bit of him. But a part of him feels lighter. He keeps Bressie on the phone the whole way there, just as a reminder that he’s really making the right choice.  
   
\--  
   
For all that it takes to get to that point, the meeting is over surprisingly quickly. They settle on a release date and a tentative timeline for the tour and Niall agrees to do a little bit of promo up until it’s time for the album to drop. As far as meetings go, it’s not very exciting, but once Niall is out of it he can’t seem to keep the smile off his face.  
   
He brings Charlotte into a tight hug as soon as they leave the building, making her laugh in surprise as she hugs back. “Everything’s alright then, I suppose?”  
   
“Fucking brilliant,” Niall says. “I’m making an album. Shit. Me. An album. And a tour. I can’t believe it.”  
   
“And you’re going to absolutely smash it,” Charlotte says, patting his cheek gently. “The little popstar who could.”  
   
Niall has lunch with Liam scheduled for right after the meeting, the same smile plastered on his face when he spots Liam waiting for him at a private table in the back. Liam’s own smile grows when he notices Niall, eyes crinkling happily in the corner as brings Niall into an embrace.  
   
“Well? How’d it go then?” Liam asks they sit down.  
   
Niall laughs. It starts at the pit of his stomach and bubbles out of him, fizzy and light like champagne and he just can’t stop. God, he’s so happy. Ecstatic. Over the moon. On cloud nine. He is every fucking cliché in the book, and then some.  
   
Liam’s mouth is turned up with amusement, but he waits patiently as Niall’s giggles die down a little, finally kicking Niall under the table gently to urge him to continue.  
   
“June. The album will be out in June,” Niall says.  
   
“Excellent,” Liam says, his face lighting up with excitement. “Will I get a special sneak peak, then?”  
   
“Well, maybe if you attend one of the special shows I’m doing in and around Dublin before the drop date,” Niall says cheekily. “It’s very exclusive, but I suppose I could put your name on the list.”  
   
“Cheers,” Liam says dryly, but the smile is still large and genuine on his face. “And what about a tour? How many concert tickets will I have to buy? Need to start saving up, don’t I?”  
   
“Tour will start next January,” Niall says as he peruses the wine list. It’s barely noon and he’s never been a fan of wine, but it seems like a day for celebrations. “It’s going to be small, though. Mainly the UK and Ireland. A few places across Europe. That’ll be it for now.”  
   
“Don’t want to do the travel the world thing again?” Liam asks. “I’m a fan of this one, by the way,” Liam adds, pointing to something on the wine list that Niall doesn’t have a hope of pronouncing. Niall decides he wants a whole bottle.  
   
“Maybe someday,” Niall says, setting down the menu. “But not now. Not when I’ve just started this thing with Bressie. I want to play shows and I want to have fun, but he’s more important.”  
   
“Being in a relationship looks good on you. You seem happy.”  
   
Niall’s cheeks burn up a little and he shrugs. “I am. We’ve got a good thing going and I don’t want to ruin it. It was hard for us before when we were both all over the place. That’s why I’m waiting to start the tour also. I want to get settled more before I take off again.”  
   
Liam nods in understanding. “You’re going to be so amazing, Niall. I can feel it. I’m so proud of you,” he says sincerely, squeezing Niall’s hand where it’s laying on the table.  
   
Niall squeezes back, thinking about the last time they were face-to-face like this. So much has changed that it makes Niall a bit dizzy. It’s not just Dublin and it’s not just Bressie. It’s everything together. The place Niall was in just six months ago is one he never wants to return to. He finally feels like he knows what he’s doing with his life again, who he is. He’s doing enough to make everything feel worthwhile.  
   
\--  
   
Niall and Liam get through a whole bottle of very expensive wine between the two of them, both of them much too tipsy for the hour when they knock on Louis’s door after lunch. Niall’s leaning on Liam for support because he feels a little wobbly, smiling against his shoulder because it’s even harder to stop now that he’s had so much to drink.  
   
“What if he’s not here? He was supposed to visit Freddie, I think?” Liam says. He’s whispering for some strange reason, but it’s like, really loudly, right into Niall’s ear.  
   
“Do you know the code? Like to his door. Harry knows mine. He broke into my flat in Dublin,” Niall says. He starts giggling, remembering Harry laid out on his couch. “God, I was so pissed. I was _so_ pissed, Liam -”  
   
The door opens abruptly, Liam and Niall both jumping back in surprise. Louis looks between the two of them in confusion, Freddie perched on his hip.  
   
“Lee-yum!” Freddie says in excitement, making grabby hands at Liam who beams and takes him much more carefully than Niall thought he could in his state.  
   
“Are you two _drunk_?” Louis hisses. “At two in the bloody afternoon?”  
   
Sometimes Niall forgets that Louis is a father now and he can’t get noon drunk in celebration anymore. It’s really a shame.  
   
“We were celebrating,” Niall says with a large grin. He still can’t stop smiling, not even when Freddie reaches over and pulls at his hair experimentally. He’s more of a menace than Louis sometimes.  
   
“Celebrating,” Louis says slowly, crossing his arms across his chest. “Celebrating what exactly?”  
   
“My album. My tour. My super exclusive shows you may or may not be invited to,” Niall says, beaming.  
   
Louis’s mouth opens a little in surprise before he smiles, eyes crinkling just as much as Liam’s. “Well, look at you, lad.”  
   
Louis ushers all of them inside, making Liam and Niall strong cups of coffee while Liam sits on the floor and plays with Freddie at his kiddie piano and Niall tells him about his touring plans. Louis lets Niall curl into his side on the couch and it feels easy and natural and it feels the way it should feel when they’re together. There’s no more tension, no more worry. It’s hard for Niall to believe that before all this, the thought of being in the same room with Louis and Liam made his chest tighten up. The disconnect is gone, the gap between them bridged now that Niall can talk and laugh more openly.  
   
Louis’s mum agrees to take Freddie for the night so they can celebrate more properly. Niall blows wet raspberries against his round cheeks in goodbye that make him squeal and giggle and Liam fake cries as Jo takes him out the door. Louis rolls his eyes at both of them, but it’s with a soft fondness that Niall’s missed.  
   
Niall’s barely sobered up when Louis pulls out the champagne, pouring Liam and Niall generous glasses and then pouring them some more when they finish. Niall feels light and bubbly, just like the drink in his hand, and it doesn’t take long before he’s a giggling mess again, leaning on Louis for support this time while they sit on the couch together.  
   
Niall’s phone starts buzzing somewhere between his third and fourth drink, Harry’s picture filling the screen, and he answers it hastily with a cheery, “Harry! Haz! Hazza! How are you, mate?”  
   
“Are you drunk?” Harry asks, and Niall can picture the amused grin he’s probably making.  
   
“That seems to be the question of the day,” Niall says, laughing like it’s the funniest thing he, or anybody else, has ever said.  
   
“Is that our Harry?” Liam asks, brightening up. “I want to talk to him. I haven’t spoken to him in ages, Niall.”  
   
“No, it’s the Prince of England we’re having a very important discussion,” Niall says, bringing the phone far from Liam’s insistent hands. He can feel Louis giggling underneath him, hiccupping in the middle.  
   
“Are you with Louis and Liam? Are you having lad’s night without me?” Harry asks, probably with an exaggerated pout.  
   
“Can’t have a lad’s night with you when you’re in Bermuda or Bali or Boston or whatever.”  
   
“I’m in London, you knob. Have been for over a week. My tour’s been over forever.”  
   
This is the best news that Niall’s ever heard. “Well, what are you doing then? Get your arse over here, Styles. Join the party. Also bring something to drink because I think we’re out of champagne   
Harry’s over within the hour, bringing with him a bottle of wine, a few cases of beer, and also a giant teddy bear.  
   
“Beer!” Niall says enthusiastically in greeting. “Now that’s the good stuff, Harry.”  
   
Liam doesn’t even wait for Harry to put the bear down, hugging them both enthusiastically and making Harry stumble a few steps back in surprise. “Harry. I’ve missed you. Don’t leave again.”  
   
“Looks like I have some catching up to do,” Harry says with a laugh, but he hugs Liam back, passing the bear on to Louis when they part.  
   
“Quite the housewarming gift there, Harry,” Louis says, looking the bear in its round, dark eyes. Niall thinks it’s rather cute and looks very, very soft.  
   
“It’s for Freddie. I missed his birthday,” Harry says with a roll of his eyes.  
   
“Ah, well that makes a bit more sense.”  
   
It doesn’t take long until Harry’s tipsy also, rambling on about some show he played during New Years. His words are slower than usual, slurring together so much that Niall has a hard time concentrating through his own muddled thoughts.  
   
Niall's calmed down some, the alcohol settling and making sleepier, more loose-limbed and content than deliriously happy. He's leaned up against Harry on the couch now, letting his words reverberate against him like subtle vibrations while watching as Louis and Liam fumble their way through a game of FIFA.  
   
Niall's thoughts are slipping into each other, none of them really making any more than sense than the last. He tries to concentrate on just one, but he keeps losing track of them as they run into each other and meld into something new. The longer he stares at the figures on the screen, though, the more often one particular thought seems to come up.  
   
“Harry,” Niall says, interrupting whatever it is that Harry's going on about. Liam swears loudly as loses again, and Niall's eyes follow him where he disappears into the kitchen leaving a cackling Louis behind. “Do you have Zayn's number?”  
   
Harry stops abruptly, and when Niall looks up at him, his face is blank. “I have a number but I'm not sure if it's the right one.”  
   
“I should tell him, shouldn't I? About this? I feel like he should know.”  
   
“I didn't tell him,” Harry says with a shrug, and somehow Niall's not surprised. “Not like he won't find out even if you don't say anything.”  
   
That's not the point, though. It's not just that Niall needs him to know, it's that he needs him to know from Niall. Something about it won't feel right if Niall doesn't mention it himself.  
   
“I'm going to tell him,” Niall decides, already standing up. His head spins when he gets up, but it passes quickly, and he follows Liam's path into the kitchen.  
   
Liam's looking at his phone, a drink in his hand that Niall hopes is water. He seems grumpy, probably from losing one too many games against Louis, but he smiles when he spots Niall. “Hey, Nialler. How are you feeling?”  
   
“Liam, do you have Zayn's number?” Niall asks instead of answering.  
   
If Liam's surprised by the question, he doesn't show it, nodding instead. “Yeah. I can text it to you if you want.”  
   
“Cheers.”  
   
Liam pats Niall's shoulder on his way out, thumb rubbing into it briefly in a comforting gesture. Niall feels his phone vibrate in his pocket a few seconds later.  
   
Niall stares at the string of numbers in his screen, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest as he does. He can't remember the last time he'd spoken to Zayn, can't even tell why this whole thing seems important all of a sudden. He hadn't thought of Zayn much at all through the process, and maybe that's the problem. Maybe it's something he should've considered more often.  
   
He calls the number before he can psych himself out, breath held tightly in his lungs as he listens to the familiar rings.  
   
Someone finally answers right as it's about to go to voicemail, a familiar accent asking, “Hello?” and making Niall's stomach twist in knots.  
   
“Hey, it’s uh, it’s Niall.”  
   
“Niall?” Zayn sounds surprised, but not angry, or even happy, just surprised. “How are you, bro?”  
   
Niall rubs at the back of his neck, leaning against the kitchen the counter and trying to stop the frantic beating of his heart. “I’ve been doing okay, I suppose. What about you? Where are you now?”  
   
“Hm, where are we? Brazil?” It sounds like he’s asking someone else in the room, and he must get an answer because he says more firmly, “Yeah, we just landed in Brazil this morning.”  
   
“That’s sick,” Niall says a bit breathily.  
   
“Yeah, it’s my first time touring here, like on my own, y’know? Haven’t been down here since it was all of us. Do you remember? All of us piling in that van going to see, what do you call it -?”  
   
“Christ the Redeemer,” Niall supplies, “yeah. I nearly got sick all over myself before we got there.”  
   
“Didn’t think I’d ever be back here,” Zayn says with a laugh, something that’s almost a bit wistful.  
   
Niall doesn’t know what to say, his thoughts still running in endless circles that he can’t keep up with. He can hear Zayn breathing down the line, can hear chattering voices and laughter, can hear Louis and Liam arguing over something, can hear Harry’s giggles. Niall closes his eyes, tries not to think about how it all seems like too much all of a sudden.  
   
“So, like, is there something you wanted?” Zayn asks. The _because you’ve never called first in the last three years_ goes unspoken.  
   
“Yeah, wanted to tell you something,” Niall says, choking on his words at the end. Zayn doesn’t push, though. He’s always been patient, never one to talk over someone else like Louis, always let them gather their thoughts, even when Harry rambled on in circles or Liam had to take a minute to think about the best way to say what he wanted.  
   
Niall knows that he just has to go for it, so he speaks quickly, pushing the words out of his chest. “I’m working on an album.”  
   
“Oh,” Zayn says, a different kind of surprised this time. “That’s cool, Niall.” He sounds genuine enough.  
   
“Yeah, it’s coming out in June. I just - I felt like you should know. I’ll be doing a few shows in Ireland for promo. And probably a release party also.”  
   
He doesn’t say _you should come_ even though he wants to, but Zayn still understands. “I think I’ll still be on tour then, but I may have a few days here and there to drop by.”  
   
“That’d be really great,” Niall says, a heavy weight lifted off his chest.  
   
They talk for a little longer until Zayn’s pulled away from someone on his end. When they say goodbye, it doesn’t actually feel like a goodbye, and Niall takes Zayn’s, “I’m really proud of you, bro,” to heart.  
   
\--  
   
Niall’s sobered up considerably by the end of the night, but Louis insists that they all spend the night because Harry and Liam are in no state to go home alone and he doesn’t want to be the only one dealing with them in the morning. Niall agrees because it’s not like he has any plans for the next day, and he’s not one to pass up a few extra hours with the lads when he doesn’t have to.  
   
When he gets into the guestroom, Niall calls Bressie without really thinking about it, feeling guilty when he realizes how late the hour is. Bressie picks up quickly, though, sounding awake and alert as he says hello.  
   
“What are you wearing?” Niall asks in greeting, trying to make his voice low and sexy, but failing when a giggle escapes his mouth at the end.  
   
Bressie sounds amused when he asks, “Are you drunk?”  
   
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Niall mumbles quietly to himself before more clearly saying, “No, not really. Not anymore, at least.”  
   
“How did your meeting go?”  
   
Niall wiggles out of his skinny jeans and t-shirt, plopping down on the soft, downy comforter before answering, “It was good, actually. We set a date for the album, talked about a tour. Feel like I was working myself up for nothing.”  
   
“Told you it’d be okay.”  
   
“Yeah, yeah,” Niall says. “Came over to Louis’s after lunch with Liam. Still there now. Harry came over too. Had a proper party and everything.”  
   
“Ah, I see. You’re partying in London while leaving me alone at these boring old fundraisers, are you?”  
   
Niall snorts in disbelief. “You love those fundraisers,” he says, because Bressie does. He puts just as much effort and dedication into organizing them as he’s done with anything else he’s worked towards.  
   
“I do, but they’re a bit better when you’re here,” Bressie says sincerely.  
   
Niall lays his free hand on his belly, fingers absentmindedly running over the sparse hair there as he asks, “So, really, what are you wearing?”  
   
“Footie pajamas,” Bressie says dryly.  
   
Niall laughs in surprise, wrinkling his nose. “Shut up, that’s not sexy.”  
   
“What if I told you I wasn’t wearing anything underneath?”  
   
“That doesn’t make it any less unsexy.”  
   
Bressie laughs loudly before replying, “I just got back from the fundraiser not to long ago, actually. Still in the suit and tie.”  
   
“Hm, I like you in suits. You’ve got the shoulders for them. I always felt a bit ridiculous when we would have to get all fancy for award shows and what not.”  
   
“Dunno, I think you’ve filled out quite nicely the past few years, Little.”  
   
Niall blushes slightly, toying with the waist of his briefs as he says, “You know I’ve always wanted you to fuck me while still in your suit. Maybe just get your cock out and fuck my mouth.”  
   
Bressie inhales sharply, something thudding on his end like he’s dropped whatever was in his hand. “Jesus, Niall.”  
   
Niall’s starting to chub up in his pants, and he wraps a lazy hand around himself, stroking a few times with no particular hurry. He’s always liked taking his time, letting the heat spread through his body, really letting himself feel the tension and the release of all his muscles.  
   
“We did that once,” Bressie says finally. “At that gala of Laura’s a few years back. You dragged me into the loo and I fucked you against the door.”  
   
“Fuck, oh yeah,” Niall feels his cock twitch in his hand a bit as he remembers. He can nearly taste the wine he’d licked out of Bressie’s mouth, feel the phantom weight of his cock pressing down on his tongue. It was during one of those small breaks they’d sometimes get in the middle of tour and Niall didn’t have a show for a few days. He remembers trying to take as much of Bressie’s prick into his mouth as he could, the nudge of it against the back of his throat as he choked around his shit gag reflex, and the rasp of his voice when they’d snuck back to the party.  
   
“Are you touching yourself?” Bressie asks.  
   
“Yeah,” Niall says, voice breathy as he shoves his briefs down past his thighs. He’s nearly hard, cock red at the tip and starting to leak. Niall runs a blunt fingernail down the slit, moaning a bit as Bressie’s breathing gets harder. “Are you?”  
   
“Got my trousers around my ankles like I’m in bloody sixth year again.”  
   
“You spend a lot of sixth year with your pants down?” Niall asks.  
   
Bressie laughs again, replying, “A decent bit of it, yeah.”  
   
“Tell me what you’re thinking about?” Niall asks. His toes curl a bit at the upstroke, and the heat in his belly gets warmer and warmer as he closes his eyes, trying to picture Bressie in his crisp button up and loose tie, hand moving quickly over his cock.  
   
“You. Always you. Your mouth. The way your cheeks get red when I kiss you. How warm you always feel. How wet you get whenever I start to open you up.”  
   
Bressie’s voice is deep and gruff as he talks, and the sound goes straight to Niall’s dick. He fucks harder into his own hand, letting out short breathy noises that match the ones that Bressie is making too.  
   
The tension inside of Niall snaps when Bressie says, “Are you going to come, Niall? Gonna come all over yourself for me?”  
   
The force of Niall’s orgasm runs up his spine, the heat of it bursting white behind his eyelids and making him gasp loudly. He’s breathing heavy as he comes down from the high, his tummy wet and sticky. His cock gives a half-hearted twitch at the sounds Bressie’s making deep and low in his throat until he also comes with a muffled groan.  
   
Niall lays there for a moment, loose and boneless, just listening to Bressie’s soft breathing. He tries to match his own to it, because it makes Bressie feel closer than he actually is at the moment.  
   
“Hey, Chief?”  
   
“Yeah?”  
   
“When you get back, we’ll celebrate all proper, alright? Dinner. Champagne. Everything.”  
   
“That sounds ace, Head,” Niall agrees softly.  
   
They chat for a little longer, Niall lazily wiping his stomach clean with his shirt as he listens to Bressie talk about his fundraiser. He tells Bressie a bit more about his meeting in turn, stopping only when he yawns loudly, making Bressie laugh.  
   
“I think it might be getting late, Niall.”  
   
“Maybe,” Niall admits, surprised to find it’s past one in the morning when he checks the time. “Should probably get to sleep.”  
   
“I’ll see you in a couple days, pet. Have fun with your boys,” Bressie says.  
   
Niall holds back another yawn before saying, “Thanks. Love you, Bressie.”  
   
“Love you too, Niall,” Bressie says softly, his words sitting warm and heavy in Niall’s chest as he easily drifts off to sleep.  
   
\--  
   
Niall expects to be the first to wake up the next morning, but when he gets down to the kitchen, he’s surprised to find Liam there, sitting with his head bowed and his hands wrapped around a large mug full of strong-scented coffee. He looks a bit pale, but he manages a small smile when Niall plops down in the seat next to him.  
   
“How are you feeling?” Niall asks, grabbing the toast that Liam’s hardly touched off his plate.  
   
Liam grunts in response and it says enough.  
   
Niall feels surprisingly fine himself. He’d chugged a couple glasses of water after getting himself cleaned up last night and taken a couple of paracetamol after waking and at the moment, things are okay.  
   
“Did you talk to Zayn last night?” Liam asks. He tears off a piece of the toast Niall took, looking at it considering for a moment before setting it back down on his plate.  
   
“Yeah, I uh, wanted to tell him,” Niall says.  
   
“Tell him what?”  
   
“About my album.”  
   
Liam looks up at him, finally. There are slight bags under his eyes and his beard is getting a bit fuller than usual. Niall feels like he’s really seeing him for the first time since leaving Dublin, even if he’s talked to him on Skype and spent a whole day with him yesterday.  
   
Niall’s missed him, missed Louis and Harry, missed Zayn who he hasn’t spoken to in well over a year, maybe even two. But it’s not really an ache or that hollow feeling he would get in his chest sometimes in the middle of tour when he realized he didn’t know where he was or where he was going and all he wanted was to get back to the busy streets of London, which even if they weren’t home, were something recognizable and something permanent. It’s more of a soft realization, like remembering summer in the middle of winter, and missing the sun and looking forward to days he can step outside and feel the warmth wash across his face.  
   
“He would hear about it anyway, wouldn’t he?” Liam asks.  
   
“He would, but I wanted him to hear it from me. Felt wrong, I guess, for him to just hear it on Twitter or some shit.”  
   
He doesn’t mention that Harry never mentioned things to Zayn, that Louis probably hasn’t talked to him in who knows how long. Niall learned long ago that there are some things that go better when they don’t work together as a unit.  
   
“I bet he appreciated it,” Liam says, clapping a hand to Niall’s thigh. “He doesn’t miss everything, but I know he misses being a part of everyone’s lives. It probably means a lot that you’re open to sharing this.”  
   
Niall just nods, giving Liam a weak smile. “I still can’t believe it’s all happening. I didn’t think it ever would.”  
   
“Me neither, bro. But we’re proud of you. All of us.”  
   
Niall sinks easily into the hug Liam brings him into and smiles into his shoulder, something warm and bright blooming in his chest.  
   
\--  
   
Willie takes Niall back to the airport on Monday morning, the sky a dusty pink as they get on the motorway. It’s a much different trip than the last one he took to Heathrow. He feels a lot lighter than he did that day way back in the fall when he wasn’t sure what exactly lay ahead of him. Now he has something to look forward to, an album, a tour, Bressie. Everything is falling in place just like he hoped that it would.  
   
“Will I actually hear from you after you’re gone this time?” Willie asks teasingly as he gives Niall a goodbye hug.  
   
“Eh, dunno. Might forget all you little people once my album’s out and I’m a super big popstar.”  
   
Willie punches Niall’s arm, making him cackle loudly. “Get out of here, you arse.”  
   
The flight is short and uneventful and Niall makes the trip back to his flat by himself, because Bressie’s stuck in a series of meetings regarding Lust For Life. It’s a surprisingly warm day for February and Niall rolls his windows down, letting the fresh crisp air fill his lungs as he makes his way home.  
   
Niall spends the day napping, waking up sometime in the middle of the afternoon when he feels the bed dip and a soft mouth pressing against his own.  
   
“Hey, petal, how was your flight?” Bressie asks.  
   
Niall nuzzles a little against the hand Bressie has on his face and says, “Was alright. Good to be home.”  
   
Bressie kisses him again, just a small peck, before lying down beside him. He throws an arm around Niall’s waist, and Niall cuddles back closer against him, fitting into him neatly like two parentheses.  
   
“Are you done for the day?” Niall asks.  
   
“No, not yet, but I have a bit of time before I have to be off again,” Bressie answers, pressing his lips to the back of Niall’s neck.  
   
Niall intertwines his fingers with Bressie’s, holding their hands close to his stomach. “Good,” he says, already starting to drift off again.  
   
They don’t see each other much over the next few days, only a few hours here and there in the studio or when they both have a moment to get lunch or dinner together. With a set date to get the album finished, Niall feels more frantic than ever, working tirelessly to lock down and finalize the track list and get everything that he needs recorded.  
   
He doesn’t relax much until the end of the week when Bressie insists they have their “proper celebration”. They go out to a fancy dinner with Eoghan and Laura, uncorking a bottle of wine that’s much too expensive for the occasion and getting tipsy before the main course even comes out.  
   
“How are things going between you two?” Laura asks, leaning in close to whisper in Niall’s ear during the night when Bressie slips off to the loo.  
   
“We’re good,” Niall says with a bright smile. “Like, real good, I think.”  
   
Laura beams at that, throwing her long arms around Niall, and practically smothering him in a hug. “Fucking finally, mate. I’ve been waiting ages for this to happen, you know. Are you going to make me best man at your wedding for getting you together?”  
   
Niall laughs, pushing her off of him half-heartedly. “Jesus, Laura, I don’t think either of us are thinking about marriage just yet. And I hardly think you got us together.”  
   
“Um, where would you be if I didn’t push you? That’s right, absolutely nowhere. It was all because of me, love, and don’t worry, I’ll make sure to mention it in my speech.”  
   
“What are you two whispering about over there?” Bressie asks when he gets back, taking his seat next to Niall.  
   
“Laura’s just declared herself best man at our wedding.”  
   
“What?” Eoghan says with feigned surprise. “You promised me I was going to be best man, Big Face. I have it in writing and everything.”  
   
They watch in bemusement as Eoghan fumbles for something in his wallet, slamming down a crumpled piece of paper that has something scrawled on top of it in Bressie’s messy writing, followed by his signature. It’s barely legible, most of the words smudged and smeared across the page, but Niall can sure enough make out something that arguably says _best man_.  
   
“When did I write this?” Bressie mutters, examining the note closely.  
   
“Dunno, think we were both a bit smashed. But it’s got your signature, so legally it’s a binding contract you can’t get out of.”  
   
“I don’t think that’s how these things work, mate,” Niall says, failing to hold back his giggles.  
   
“You can still be Bressie’s best man,” Laura says. “I’ll be Niall’s. Everyone wins.”  
   
“Yeah, except for me and Niall.”  
   
Eoghan must kick Bressie under the table because he jumps suddenly, causing Niall to giggle even harder, hiding his face in Bressie’s arm until he calms down. He’s bubbly the whole night, just like he was with Liam, and the feeling grows and grows as the night goes on, until it threatens to spill out like the foam erupting from a freshly opened bottle of champagne.  
   
They go back to Bressie’s place that night because it’s closer, Bressie pressing Niall against the door as soon as they stumble inside. They snog right there in the entryway, giggling against each other’s mouths as they fumble open shirt buttons with clumsy fingers.  
   
Niall laughs in surprise when Bressie picks him up with large hands underneath his thighs, carrying him up to his room and dropping him gently on the bed. They kiss more softly, and when they have sex it’s slow and sweet, the way that Niall likes it best. Afterwards they fall asleep tangled up in each other, Niall with his head pillowed on Bressie’s chest and a leg hooked over his hip, their breathing matched together and their chests rising and falling steadily in unison.  
   
\--  
   
The next few months pass by in a blur of Niall running in and out of the studio. He finishes recording before the end of February and production begins just as the month rolls into March. Niall doesn’t know much about production, has never had the same kind of interest in it that Liam has, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to learn and involve himself as much as he can. Bressie’s there most days to guide him through it and help him when he starts to feel frustrated when things aren’t going the way he wants or sounding the way he imagined.  
   
Liam starts bugging Niall sometime in the middle of March, dropping not-so-subtle hints that he has plenty of free time on his hands if Niall ever needs a second opinion on how things are going with the album. Niall finally gives in and invites Liam up to spend a couple weeks at his flat and brings him into the studio where he mixes enough tracks to get himself a spot on the album credits.  
   
“Have I mentioned that this album is amazing, Nialler?” Liam asks one night when they’re up late in the studio. Other than the two of them, everyone’s left already, even Bressie who finally gave up for the night, kissing Niall softly and promising to see him back at Niall’s flat.  
   
Niall’s falling asleep himself, nodding off intermittently and struggling to keep his eyes open. The cup of coffee he’d had earlier is already wearing off, and he’s honestly ready to go back home. “You might’ve said something once or twice,” Niall mumbles.  
   
When he looks at Liam, he has a look of wonder on his face, eyes soft and smile large. He barely looks tired despite the late hour, and Niall wonders just how long he could keep going if no one told him to stop and go to bed. “I’m serious, Niall. Like, I’ve heard a lot of albums the past couple years and this - this is, like, seriously sick. You really have something here, bro.”  
   
Liam’s oozing sincerity in a way that only he’s capable of, and despite his exhaustion, Niall still feels warm and soft around the edges at his compliments. It’s a way that only Liam’s ever managed to make him feel because no one does praise quite like Liam does. With Liam it never sounds forced or overused. Every part of Liam is glowing and genuine.  
   
“Thanks, Liam. I really appreciate it.”  
   
Niall drops Liam off the day of his flight, the two of them making the now familiar trip to the airport together. It’s very reminiscent of the day that Niall dropped Louis off, with Niall giving Liam a hard hug and promising that they’ll see each other again soon.  
   
“I better be one of the first people to hear that album of yours, Niall,” Liam says seriously.  
   
“You’ll hear it when everyone else does,” Niall says cheekily, earning him a pinch to the waist and a mock glare from Liam.  
   
“I’ll try to get it to you as soon as I can,” Niall concedes, and Liam grins, bringing him in for one last hug before heading towards security.  
   
In the beginning of April, Niall has a day to himself, and he takes it to tidy up around the flat. Half the things lying around are Bressie’s, from shoes to clothes to books. His things not only litter every surface, but also have a proper place that they belong in now. Bressie’s gone beyond just having a drawer at Niall’s flat. It’s just as much his as it is Niall’s these days, and Niall knows that they’re edging into the time to discuss moving in together and making this more permanent and more stable. He’s not sure exactly when it will happen, but he wants to do it sometime before he goes on tour, knows that when he comes back, he doesn’t just want to come home, he wants to come home to Bressie, to a home that they share together.  
   
Niall’s just finishing up in the kitchen when there’s a knock at the door, and he looks up at the security cams, confused when he sees Bressie’s face staring back at him.  
   
“Did you forget your key?” Niall asks, opening the door.  
   
Bressie shakes his head with a laugh. “No, have it with me. But thought that this would be done more properly if I had you answer the door instead.”  
   
“What would be done more properly?” Niall’s no less confused than he was before.  
   
“It’s done,” Bressie says, smile wide.  
   
Niall furrows his brow for a second, before realization dawns and his jaw drops instead. “It’s done? Like done done?”  
   
“I mean, it will probably be tweaked around a little more before it’s released, but yeah, it’s done,” Bressie says, so excited that he looks like he’s about a second from rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.  
   
Before Niall can ask, he reveals the hand he’s got hidden behind his back. In it is a slim jewel case, a single blank CD inside.  
   
Niall’s heart is pumping hard where it’s lodged itself somewhere in his throat. He takes the case from Bressie, handling it carefully like it’s something fragile, something that will shatter and crack if it falls from his fingers onto the soft plush carpeting.  
   
“It’s done.” Niall’s voice is more choked up than he thought it would be.  
   
“Shall we have a listen?”  
   
Niall throws his arms around Bressie’s neck before answering, pressing up on his toes so he can reach properly. Bressie laughs, arms curling around Niall’s waist and lifting him up just slightly. Niall kisses him soft and steady, a hand on Bressie’s face and stubble brushing against his jaw. It’s nothing rushed, nothing urgent, but it is a thank you, something to say all the things that Niall doesn’t know how he could ever come close to expressing in words.  
   
“Yeah, let’s have a listen,” Niall says when they part, his face warm and lips tingling.  
   
Bressie takes his hand and drags him into the living room. Niall pops the disc into his stereo set, pulling Bressie down onto the couch before pressing play and waiting for it to start up. He still has his hand wrapped around Bressie’s and he squeezes it hard when the first few notes of the opening starts up.  
   
Niall inhales sharply at the now-familiar melody. It’s something soft and sweet and maybe a little sad, but it fills Niall with a bloom of something that’s so strongly bright and powerful, that he doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt so happy.  
   
\--  
   
**Epilogue**  
  
“I think I’m going to be sick.”  
   
Niall knows he’s not going to be sick, mostly because he’s vommed twice in the last couple of hours and there’s nothing in his stomach to empty out, but even then, he’s still got that sour feeling inside of him that he hasn’t missed at all the past few years.  
   
“This isn’t your first show, love, you’ll be fine,” Bressie reassures him, catching his mouth in a soft kiss. Niall’s very glad he’s cleaned his teeth.  
   
Niall releases his first single in May. It’s not that first track he recorded with Bressie, instead going with a faster, catchier tune titled “Lost a Bet” that he’d written with Louis and produced with Liam. It debuts number one in Ireland, and at least in the top ten most other places, and Niall’s never been more proud of himself.  
   
Promo for the album isn’t too exhaustive. He does a few radio things and then a week in the U.S. at a few talk shows. Before dropping the single to radio, Niall takes the band to a few cities around Europe and they film a music video that gets released just three weeks after the song. It’s incredibly low key and just what Niall hoped it would be.  
   
The days leading up to the album release party are hectic, however. It’s more of a concert than anything else, a small private show for a few celebs and some lucky fans gathered through contests and sweepstakes. Niall’s supposed to be playing his whole album throughout the night, and the idea of playing something so personal to such a small, intimate gathering has got him frazzled with nerves.  
   
The band’s already set up on the small stage they’ve constructed, and Niall gives a shaky smile to Bree when she sends him a thumbs up from behind her drum set. It’s nearly time for him to go on.  
   
“Hey,” Bressie says softly.  
   
Niall looks up at him, unsurprised when he’s brought in for another kiss. It’s harder this time, not exactly fierce, but persistent, Bressie biting at his bottom lip and pulling him as close as he can when Niall has his guitar hanging between the two of them.  
   
“You get nervous, and you look back here, alright? I’m going to be here the whole time,” Bressie says, thumb swiping over Niall’s bottom lip gently when they part.  
   
Niall swallows around the lump in his throat and nods. There’s a signal from one of the stagehands and he takes one last, shuddery breath, giggling nervously when Bressie taps his arse on the way out.  
   
The cheers are loud when Niall steps out, much louder than he expected considering the size of the crowd. His heart is beating hard in his ribcage, but he feels that first jolt of adrenaline when he steps up to the mic. All these people are here for him, just for him.  
   
Niall scans the audience as the cheers die down, smiling more brightly when he sees Liam and Louis and Harry standing side by side, all of them beaming wider than Niall’s seen in a long time. It turns the twisting in his stomach into something more like butterflies, and for the first time all night, he feels like this is going to go alright.  
   
Before starting he looks back, catching Bressie’s eye backstage. Bressie’s smiling, making small _get on with it_ gestures that make Niall laugh. He feels more settled knowing that the people he cares about most are here with him tonight. His excitement swells up inside of him, ready to break like the crest of a wave onto the shore.  
   
Niall steps closer to the mic, strumming out a few chords of his guitar before saying, “Thanks for coming tonight. I know you’re here to hear some music, so let’s just jump right into it. Here’s the first track on the album, it’s called ‘Finding Home’.”  
   
The first few beats of the song start to pick up and Niall grins, letting the bass pump through him and match the frantic beating of his heart and the flow of adrenaline pounding in his veins. Pressing his lips to the microphone, Niall sings.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated. You can come talk to me about Niall or Bressie or anything on [tumblr](http://singledadniall.tumblr.com) or on [twitter](http://twitter.com/sunshinexbomb)!


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